


if you let me down, let me down slow

by orphan_account



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Apologies, Artist Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), Depression, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Galaxy Gals, Gen, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Panic Attacks, Prom, Quoting Songs By Our Favorite Bands, Recreational Drug Use, Road Trips, Self-Harm, Sibling Bonding, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Tree Bros, like. so many apologies, soft connor, why is everyone apologizing all the time!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-03-31 08:34:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 80,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13971306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “I mean, like,” Connor continues. He’s staring at something behind Evan, and his expression is hard but thoughtful. His eyes are bloodshot. “We’re both giant fucking losers, so might as well...join forces. Or whatever.” He looks at Evan, then, and furrows his eyebrows. “Dude, what’s wrong with you?”Evan lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His face feels warm. “Sorry. I-I like—I would like that a lot. To be, um, friends.”“Cool.” Connor leans against the brick wall, and they both look out at the parking lot in silence for a moment. “So what now?”(Evan and Connor become friends. This fic follows their adventures throughout senior year.)***as of 7/18/18, this fic is on hiatus indefinitely





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first fic for DEH, so please be kind.  
>   
> this started off as a short thing I was just writing to pass the time and make myself feel better when life gets rough, and then it spiraled into something much bigger and now I have a 40k fic with like twenty chapters sitting in google docs waiting to be shared with people (and it's not even fully finished, so it'll probably be well over twenty chapters)  
>   
> so here's chapter one! I'm gonna post the first few soon to get this thing going, and then after that updates will probably be like once a week? if I can hold myself back from posting even more frequently than that lmao  
>   
> title is a lyric from the song what's it gonna be? by shura  
>   
> anyways here's wonderwall

“And I got to second base below the bra with this girl from Israel who’s going to be in the army, so,” Jared says, grinning. “Yeah, pretty sure that answers your question.”

Evan wants to ask him to sign his cast, thinks, _just ask him come on just do it what’s the worst thing that could happen._ And then he starts thinking about all the things that actually could happen. And then it’s too late to ask because Jared’s attention is on Connor Murphy, who has stumbled into the hallway. He’s going through his bag almost frantically—like he’s lost something.

“Loving the hair length, Connor,” Jared calls, and Evan tries to _will_ him somehow to just keep his mouth shut and leave the guy alone, but it’s Jared, so of course he continues, “Very school shooter chic.”

Connor looks up, clutching the strap of his bag defensively, and there’s a sort of wild look in his eyes.

“It was a joke,” Jared says after a beat of uncomfortable, tension-filled silence.

“Yeah, no, it was funny. I’m laughing,” Connor deadpans. He straightens up, and then, stepping closer, says, “Am I not laughing _hard enough_ for you?”

Jared stares at him. “You are _such_ a freak.”

He walks off, and then it’s just Connor and Evan alone in the hallway, and Evan blurts out, “I’m—I’m really sorry he said that, that was um—that was awful. I’m so sorry.”

Connor stares at him for a long moment, radiating anger. Then his shoulders slump suddenly, like the life has been drained out of him, like he’s exhausted. 

“Fuck off,” he says viciously, and then walks away too.

Evan stands there for a minute, trying to calm down. His grip on his backpack straps is so tight that his knuckles are turning pale, and he’s so tense, his shoulders are almost up to his ears. The hallway is mostly empty; there’s one girl still at her locker, who, judging by the way she keeps looking back to steal glances at Evan, definitely witnessed what just happened. Evan hopes with all his heart that she isn’t into gossip, because he really doesn’t want it going around that he made a fool of himself on the first day and got told off by Connor Murphy.

Jared, he thinks, would probably love it. He lives for attention, and loves when people talk about him—good or bad. The complete opposite of Evan, who just wants to make it through the rest of his time in high school remaining unnoticed. For the most part. Because at the same time, he wants to be...seen. He wants to be known as more than just "that guy who can’t get through presentations without stuttering and shaking." The guy who eats lunch outside, alone. The guy who fell out of a tree.

 _What are you, an acorn?_ Jared’s voice echoes in his head. Evan really hopes that doesn’t catch on.

He sighs and turns around to go in the direction of his homeroom—and when he does, Zoe Murphy is there in front of him. She seems to have appeared from out of nowhere.

 _What is my_   life  _today?_

“Hey, I’m sorry about my brother, I saw him yell at you?” She says, shaking her head.

“What, that?” Evan says with an anxious laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “No, that was—it was nothing. It’s fine.”

Zoe shakes her head again, rolling her eyes. “No, he’s a psychopath. Just...don’t take anything he says seriously.”

She’s wearing a flowy, long-sleeved shirt, and her hair is half pulled back with a purple scrunchie. Wavy brown ringlets cascade down her shoulders. Evan thinks back to the crush he had on her for most of middle school—it started in seventh grade, when she was the only sixth grader in his math class, because she got to test out of sixth grade math. She was always getting called on to solve problems on the board, and made corny jokes with her friends in the back of the classroom. Then, the next year, they were in the same choir class. She wasn’t the greatest singer, but she didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of her. He always wondered how she got away with taking two electives at the same time—band being the second, and clearly a better fit for her.

Even with her braces, and slight lisp, Evan thought she was...awesome. Even though he never really knew her. He never even sat near her.  Now, with her standing directly in front of him, the proximity makes his heart flutter, a little bit. He doesn’t like her that way anymore, but the junior high kid inside of him is still just really excited to get to talk to her. Despite the strange circumstances.

“Evan?” Zoe pulls him out of his thoughts. She _knows his name._

“Yes!” He says with a little too much enthusiasm. “I mean—I spaced out, sorry, I, um—it’s fine, though. Really!”

Her eyebrows are furrowed, but she’s laughing a little. “Okay,” she says, beginning to back away. “I gotta go to class. I’ll see you around, Evan.” 

He wants to say something cool in response, like a joke or _something_. Anything. He even considers asking her to sign his cast. But as she walks away, nothing comes out of his mouth. Not even a quick, _“See you!”_

And then he’s just alone in the hallway, staring after her and feeling sorry for himself all over again.

 

-

 

A few days later, he’s in the computer lab after school. It’s empty, which he likes because he doesn’t have to worry about anyone looking at him and judging him (the way he walks the way he types the way he breathes the way he—) or maybe someone who would try to talk to him—except no one would want to talk to him, so that’s stupid. But the judging thing, that’s valid, he thinks.

“So, um, what happened to your...arm?”

Evan turns his head too fast, and gets whiplash. _Shit._ Connor stands there in the doorway. He’s holding a beat-up paperback in his hands, and his bag is slung over one shoulder. There are papers peeking out of the flap like they were shoved in without much care.

Evan has spent the past few days avoiding him as much as possible—in the hallways, and in class.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he says, “Uh, I fell out of a tree, actually.”

“You fell out of a tree,” Connor says, not really a question, not really a statement. Evan nods silently, looking down at his cast. A moment passes, and then the other boy says, “Well that is just the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard, oh my god.”

Evan, trying not to be hurt by this, lets out a nervous laugh. “I know.”

Connor steps into the room. He looks hesitant. “I’m Connor.”

“I know,” Evan says again, and regrets it immediately.

“You know,” Connor says, in that same way—half-question, half-not.

And Evan thinks of all the things he absolutely _shouldn’t_ say in response to that, thinks _just introduce yourself back don’t be weird don’t make it weird_ , but it’s too late, he’s already speaking a mile a minute. “No, I just mean I know you’re Connor, just, I’ve seen you around and also people talk, you know, they mention you? Ever since like second grade, when you threw a printer at Mrs. G? I mean, oh god, I’m sorry, you probably already know that people talk about you and I don’t need to make you more aware of it, that was really rude of me, I’m so sorry...” His voice trails off, and he clears his throat. “Anyways, yeah, I...know...Connor’s your name. You’re Connor. Sorry.” _Fuck._ At least he hasn’t mentioned anything about Zoe confronting him. He can’t imagine Connor reacting well to that.

(Not that what Evan’s saying now is any better.)

“Right,” Connor says, drawing it out. His eyes have gone wide. “Okay. Evan, right?”

“Evan! I mean, yes my name is Evan!” It comes out too rushed— _ImeanyesmynameisEvan!_

“Um, I’m sorry,” Connor says. He’s scratching the back of his neck and looking down at the floor. “About the other day.”

“Oh, what, when you—? That was nothing don’t even—don’t even worry about it,” Evan says, having a moment of deja vu. (He thinks he said something similar to Zoe.) He doesn’t know why but he feels the need to add, “Dude.”

He is cringing _so hard_ at himself on the inside.

If Connor is noticing the way Evan is embarrassing the fuck out of himself, he doesn’t comment on it, and he doesn’t leave, either (like he should have by now, if he was, well, anyone else Evan knows). Instead, he moves closer, tentatively, and gestures towards Evan’s arm.  “No one’s, uh, signed your cast,” he points out.

“No, I know,” Evan says quietly, looking down at the blank white plaster.

“Well, I’ll sign it,” Connor decides.

Evan doesn’t know what to say. “You—you don’t have to...”

Connor shakes his head slightly. “You uh, have a Sharpie?”

Evan pulls the marker out of his pocket and hands it to him. Connor tucks his book under one arm and takes Evan by the wrist, a little too roughly. Evan winces but keeps his mouth shut, and the taller boy’s eyes flicker up to look at his face. “Sorry,” he mutters, and then he’s gentler when he signs his name.

In huge, capital letters that take up the entire back part of the cast, leaving no room for any other potential signatures. _Not like there would be any others,_ Evan thinks kind of bitterly.

“Uh, thanks,” he stammers as he stares at it. 

Connor nods. He gives the marker back, and Evan notices that his nails are painted. “Yeah, well, now we can both pretend that we have friends.” His laugh when he says this is short and bitter and it’s sad to hear come out of his mouth, even if they both know it’s true.

“Good point,” is all Evan says, logging off of the computer. He hasn’t gotten to print out his assignment for English yet, which is why he’s here, but he doesn’t know how he could do it now. _If I stay and print it, it’ll seem rude, right, because it might be like I’m ignoring him when he’s trying to have a conversation, or it’ll be like I don’t want to talk to him anymore? And if I just leave—if I leave that’s probably worse. Oh god. Okay. Don’t just stand there staring at him, either leave or say something, dumbass._

He chooses to do the latter, blurting out, “Um, I would actually—I wouldn’t mind being friends? I mean. With—with you? Maybe we could be friends?”

Connor looks a little bit like a deer caught in headlights. _Fuck,_ Evan thinks again, _why did I open my big stupid mouth I should have just_ left, _what the hell is he supposed to say to that, why would he want—_

“Sorry, I—” Evan gets out, trying to keep his breathing in check. “Just ignore me, I don’t know why I thought—”

“It was third grade!” The words seem to rush out of Connor, and then the expression on his face says he regrets them immediately.

“What?” 

Connor closes his eyes for the briefest of moments and exhales. His fingers tighten around the book. “When I threw the printer at Mrs. G. It was...third grade.  Not second.”

“I—oh? That’s.” Evan remembers that day pretty well, remembers how word spread fast at their small elementary school, where everyone knew each other. He wasn’t in Mrs. G’s class, but Jared was. The incident happened sometime in the morning, and kids whispered to each other about it until recess, when all the classes met up and everyone found out that it was _Connor_ who did it. Jared told him and some other kids the story as he hung from the monkey bars, and Evan, sitting in the mulch, wondered why anyone would do something like that.

“I’ll, uh. I’ll see you around, Evan.” Connor says—but he makes no move to leave. His expression is closed off once again. 

Evan tries not to let his disappointment show on his face as he zips his backpack up and puts it on in quick, jerky motions. “Yeah, um, I actually have to go but um, yep, I’ll see you!”

Connor raises a hand in a little wave that Evan almost misses as he practically bolts out of the room.

 

-

 

Evan’s standing outside after school a couple of days later, waiting for his mom to pick him up. She doesn’t do it often—only on the days he has therapy. He scrolls through Twitter, just so it seems like he’s doing something, which is so stupid, does he really have to be on his phone all the time just to look busy, it’s not like anyone’s watching him. _Watching and judging. If you stand around and you don’t have anyone to talk to and you’re not doing anything then you look like a creep, do you wanna look like a loser_ and _a creep?_

He keeps scrolling.

He reads some informational threads. Goes through a few of his favorite nature accounts. Likes some tweets Jared posted earlier in the day:

 **the insanely cool jared kleinman?** @yestheinsanelycooljaredkleinman

me in the bathroom: *apologizes to the guy vaping in the stall behind me for killing the mood*

 **the insanely cool jared kleinman?** @yestheinsanelycooljaredkleinman

tell me why i was counted absent in steinberg’s class when i was, without a doubt, there the entire time. singing africa by toto. all period. loudly

Evan snorts to himself and decides to reply to the last one.

 **Evan Hansen** @Evan_hansen

(in reply to @yestheinsanelycooljaredkleinman) I think you know why

Jared likes the tweet less than thirty seconds after Evan posts it, but doesn’t reply, and then Evan’s refreshing his timeline again with a sigh. (He’s not sure what more he expected.) A few minutes pass like this, and then he feels someone’s presence behind him, and turns around.

It’s Connor. He’s holding the same old book from before in one hand, and his other hand is shoved into his pocket.

“Hi,” Evan says hesitantly, putting his phone in his pocket. He would have thought Connor probably wouldn’t want to speak to him again. He _did_ think that. Does.

“Hi.”

And Connor doesn’t say anything else after that, so Evan doesn’t, either. Even though he wants to ask, _“Why are you here?”_ or  _“What do you want from me?”_ Because if he did that it would be rude of him and Connor would definitely, like, beat him up.

A minute passes. Two. Evan stares down at his feet, and pulls at the hem of his shirt, and chews on the inside of his cheek.

“So I was thinking,” Connor says, finally, holding the book against his leg and fiddling with the cover. “About what you said. About being friends. I think it makes sense.”

Evan continues to keep his mouth shut, because _this has to be a joke, right? He’s making fun of you._

_Yeah. This is just a dumb prank._

Except...what does Connor Murphy have to gain from that? He’s kind of even less popular than Evan, so…it doesn’t make sense. Unless the rumors about him are true, and he really is just a sociopath who could care less about that, and just wants to make the kid with anxiety feel like shit.

But—

Okay, yeah, Connor was a dick to him the other day. But then he apologized, and signed Evan’s cast, and something about it felt genuine. Like he actually felt bad and was just trying to do something nice. And now Connor stands next to him, fidgeting, turning that book over in his hands. Plus, most of those rumors about Connor are straight up bullshit. ( _“He’s been held back like four years”_ and “ _He smokes crack_ ” and “ _He killed his aunt_ ” being some of the dumbest ones.) Evan tries very hard to see the best in everyone.

Or maybe he’s just naive.

“I mean, like,” Connor continues. He’s staring at something behind Evan, and his expression is hard but thoughtful. His eyes are bloodshot. “We’re both giant fucking losers, so might as well...join forces. Or whatever.” He looks at Evan, then, and furrows his eyebrows. “Dude, what’s wrong with you?”

Evan lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His face feels warm. “Sorry. I-I like—I would like that a lot. To be, um, friends.”

“Cool.” Connor leans against the brick wall next to him, and they both look out at the parking lot in silence for a moment. Evan tries to process that this is actually happening right now. He pinches his arm. _Yep, not a dream_. “So what now?”

“Um, I don’t know. I guess we should...hang out? And talk, and stuff? I-I’m pretty sure that’s what friends do.”

“So you don’t have... _any_ friends? At all?”

Evan glances at Connor, whose eyes are on his cast.  “No. But I mean, you know that? You said it yourself the other day, we both…don’t have any friends, that’s what you said.” His voice gets smaller and smaller as he goes on. 

“I know, but.” Connor makes an annoyed sound. “What about that asshole I saw you with? Short. Glasses.”

“Oh, Jared?” Evan thinks about their brief Twitter interaction, and how they used to be close when they were kids. But then he thinks about what Jared said to Connor that day, and once he does that, he’s reminded of all the other occasions that Jared was kind of horrible to him or someone else for no real reason. “We’re not really friends. Like. Sometimes I go to his house to fake hang out, and he makes me sit around while he plays video games or something, until he says he thinks it’s been a reasonable amount of time—because he only wants me around long enough for his parents to believe he’s good friends with me, so—so that they pay for his car insurance. Um. Anyways, we’re just. We’re family friends so it doesn’t really count, you know? At least that’s what he always says. I mean he’s made it, um, kind of clear. Sorry, I just said so much, I didn’t mean to babble on and on...like that.” Evan twists the hem of his shirt in his hands. His face is definitely very red now.

Connor just says, “Jesus, he really is a dick.”

Evan lets out a short little laugh—it just bubbles out of him and then he’s covering his mouth and saying, “Oh god, I shouldn’t be...He’s not _that_ bad? He _can_ , um, be an asshole, though. I guess. Sometimes. He was definitely way, way out of line, with what he said to you.”

Connor whistles. “Did you just swear?” He still looks kind of bored. “You don’t seem like the type.”

Evan isn’t, not really. Inside his head, sure, sometimes—mainly when he’s beating himself up about something, and/or wishing he was dead—which is, well. All the time, kind of. But he doesn’t swear out loud unless he’s very stressed out or unless he means it. “I-I’m not, sorry, I mean I just—”

“I was impressed,” Connor says, his mouth quirking up slightly. “You’re ruining it.”

“Sorry.”

Connor shakes his head. The movement makes a few strands of hair—a slightly darker shade of brown than Zoe’s—fall in front of his face. He shakes his head again to get it out of the way. “So we could hang out, like you said, um. Tomorrow. If you want.”

“Oh sure, yeah, that’s. Yeah!” Evan is trying very hard not to somehow jump out of his own body out of sheer, just, all of the things he’s feeling at once.

“Okay, cool, we can go to my house after school. Uh, here—” Connor is stuffing the book under his arm so he can rummage through his bag, and then he pulls out his phone. The screen is cracked. “Put your number in.”

Pleasantly surprised, Evan does, and hands it back to him with slightly shaky hands. “You can text me, s-so that I have yours?”

Connor nods and stands up straighter. “I’ll see you.”

“Yes!” Evan says, a little too loudly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, after school, to hang out!”

Connor gives him a kind of weird look, like _okay dude chill_ and gives him a thumbs up before walking away. Evan watches him make his way across the parking lot to what looks like—well, a soccer mom van. As Connor gets into his car, Evan hears a short honk and looks over to see his mom pulled up in front of him.

“Hey sweetie, how was your day?” she asks as he gets in. When he looks over, her eyes are crinkled up in the corners, like she's trying her very hardest to appear cheerful, and it makes him smile back at her. She looks exhausted.

“Good. It was, um, pretty strange, but...good.” Evan tells her, and means it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys hang out for the first time.

Evan’s sitting in Economics—the one class he shares with Connor—taking notes from the textbook, when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

 **this is connor** **,** the text message reads.

Evan turns around to look at Connor, who sits a few seats behind him to the right, but he’s scribbling something on his hand. His phone is the only thing he has out on his desk, and he doesn’t seem to be paying any attention. Evan decides not to question it and turns back around in his seat to type a reply.

He sends a thumbs up emoji, and then: **_are we still hanging out today?_ **

It’s seven minutes before he gets a reply back. **yeah i’ll meet you outside same place as yesterday**

**_okay, I’ll see you then :-)_ **

He immediately regrets the smiley face, and spends the rest of the day thinking about it, even though he _knows_ it’s not really a big deal. _What if it looked passive aggressive? Or too eager? Or just uncool?_

Connor meets him outside the building, as promised. He’s wearing the same black hoodie he wore the day before, but instead of that worn paperback, he’s holding what looks like a sketchbook. “C’mon, my car’s this way,” he says, and Evan bites his tongue to hold back from saying _I know_ as he follows him.

The back of the van is covered in stickers that Evan doesn’t really get to make sense of—he thinks some of them are band logos—because Connor’s opening the door and telling Evan to give him his bag so he can put it in the back.

He’s barely sat down before Connor is peeling out of the parking lot, and Evan fumbles with the seatbelt and tries to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. (It smells a little weird, but Evan can’t figure out what exactly it is.) Connor’s driving is kind of...reckless.

“You want the radio on?” Connor asks, glancing over at him. “Or I have CDs somewhere back there. My AUX doesn’t work, so.”

Evan turns and gets a proper look at the backseat, which is extremely messy. Water bottles and soda cans litter the floor, and textbooks and homework packets and other random papers cover the seats completely. His and Connor’s backpacks sit on top of the mess. He can’t see any CDs.

“N-No, that’s okay,” he says. Connor drums his fingers against the wheel and makes a jerky turn. Evan picks at his thumbnail. “I feel like I should, um, ask you to like, tell me about yourself?”

Connor rolls his eyes a little. “Because friends know stuff about each other?" He reaches over to turn on the AC. "I get it. Ask away, I guess.”

“Um, okay, I don’t know...what’s—what’s your favorite color?” Evan fights the urge to cringe at himself. How unoriginal and boring of him, he thinks, but also, what else could he have possibly asked? 

“Like. Dark blue,” Connor replies. “What’s yours?”

“Mine’s blue too!” Evan says, and then smiles sheepishly. “N-Not dark blue, though, but like. Regular blue? Or light blue.”

“Yeah, I could’ve guessed, with all the blue you wear,” Connor says. He gestures at Evan’s shirt.

Evan laughs. He’s still incredibly nervous, so he sounds a little bit like a goat. _Oh my god who even_ are _you, why are you like this._ “Yeah, I think I, like, only own blue shirts...My room is blue, too.”

“So blue is your thing.” They’re stuck in traffic now, not so far from the school, and Connor looks over at him properly now that he doesn’t have to focus on the road. His attention makes Evan want to shrink into himself further but also sit up straighter at the same time. It’s strange, and intimidating. “What else is your thing?”

Evan takes a bit to respond—even though he knows the answer as soon as Connor asks—to make it seem like he had to think about it. “I like trees?”

They start driving again. Connor waits for Evan to continue, and then when Evan doesn’t get what that look on his face means, he says with a huff, “Explain.”

“I just like them, I don’t know,” Evan shrugs. “Like, learning stuff about them? A lot of people don’t really think about or—or notice trees but they’re really good, because they’re good for humans, and I don’t just mean like they absorb carbon dioxide or create oxygen, I mean like there are studies on how beneficial it is for people to just be around trees, like you’re healthier and happier around them, and not to mention all the amazing other things they do for the environment?” Part of him wants to keep talking, to tell Connor more about all the ways trees are cool, but he bites his tongue. _He doesn’t want to hear that shit, don’t nerd out on him. He’ll think you’re a giant weirdo. Well, even more of one than he already thinks you are. The last time you talked to Jared about trees, you were telling him about different types, and he asked you to please shut up before he became the first person ever to die from both boredom and secondhand embarrassment at the same time. Do you want Connor to actually be the first person that happens to?_ “Sorry. Um, they’re just—they’re cool,” he finishes lamely.

Connor frowns a little but doesn’t say anything for a moment, focused on another turn. It’s smoother than the last few. “You don’t have to keep saying sorry. I mean, I asked.” Then he barks out a sort of laugh, and says kind of rudely, “Wait, but didn’t you say you fell out of a tree?”

Evan’s stomach sinks a little. “Um, yes?” He clears his throat before Connor can ask him anything else about it, and asks, “What’s—what’s _your_ thing?”

“Being school shooter chic,” Connor answers dryly, and Evan’s chest is tight all of a sudden, on top of the weird feeling in his stomach.

“I-I’m really sorry he said that about you. Just. It was so, so out of line and—and unfair." 

Connor shrugs, face blank. “Thanks. It's whatever."

Evan nods hard, probably overdoing it. They turn into Evan’s neighborhood, and Evan is confused at first because he thought they were going to Connor’s—but then Connor drives past Evan’s street and keeps going, so. So they live in the same neighborhood. And not very far from each other.

“But really, what do you like?” Evan tries. “Or, um, like to do?”

Connor parks in front of a house that’s way nicer than Evan’s (even the yard looks better—well-kept). As they get out of the car, he hums and says, “I like art. And I read, sometimes. When I have time to read for fun, you know, so not so much anymore, because high school is fucking dumb. And I smoke now and then.” He looks over at Evan when he adds the last thing, as if he’s looking for a reaction.

Evan realizes that’s what the smell in the car was—weed. He voices this to Connor, then claps a hand over his mouth. He should not have said that out loud, he should have kept it to himself, fuck.

Connor just grins and goes to the front door—he makes it there in only a few strides, while Evan fast-walks to keep up. He unlocks the door, and Evan thinks about how impossibly long his legs are.  “Does it bother you?”

Evan follows him in, and shuts the door behind them. The Murphy house is like the house Evan has always imagined a perfect, nuclear family to be living in. There are some similarities to his own house, like in the layout, but it’s much bigger, and there are framed photos on the walls in the entrance and near the staircase. 

“The—the smell?” Evan asks, confused.

Connor shrugs one shoulder, peering down at his nails. “Just in general.”

“N-Not really, I mean, you do you, you know,” Evan says in a small voice. It’s mostly true—he doesn’t really care that Connor smokes weed, because it’s none of his business. But the way that he says it has Connor raising an eyebrow.

“Connor?” a woman’s voice calls from further inside the house.

Connor sighs heavily and motions for Evan to follow him through the living room. “Sorry I didn’t warn you—my mom’s home. She’ll definitely think it’s weird that you’re here.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t sound so—” Connor makes an irritated sort of sound, and then says, almost like he’s read Evan’s mind, “It’s not because you’re you, just. Because I’m me. I don’t ever have people over. Obviously.”

They enter the kitchen, where Connor’s mom stands chopping vegetables at the island. She looks up at them, and a multitude of different expressions pass over her face within a second, before she settles on a smile. “Hi! Who’s this?”

“Evan,” Connor replies, moving towards the fridge. Evan smiles and raises his hand in a very awkward little wave, and then brings it down quickly. He pinches the hem of his shirt. “Do you, uh. Do you want anything?” Connor asks him. 

Evan blinks.

“Like, water, or something?”

“Oh! Um, n-no thank you.”

“Well it’s very nice to meet you, Evan,” Connor’s mom says, sweeping carrot peels and other bits off the counter into a trash can. “You can call me Cynthia. Connor, can I talk to you alone for a minute?”

Connor closes the fridge and turns around. His shoulders are tensed. “You can go upstairs,” he mumbles to Evan. “You’ll know my room when you see it.”

Evan goes, even though he feels uncomfortable just walking by himself through the house of people he doesn’t know. He stops to look at the photos on the walls. There’s one of Connor and Zoe as kids, maybe five or six years old, both holding up four-leaf clovers and grinning wide for the camera. There’s one of little Zoe in a blue dress, smiling sweetly, with Connor behind her making bunny ears above her head. Seeing him with hair that short is a little unnerving. In another, Zoe is older, ten or so, holding a guitar. There’s one of Cynthia with a man who has to be Connor’s dad, and then there's a big one of the whole family, probably taken professionally: Cynthia and Mr. Murphy in the back, with the kids standing in front of them. Connor has slightly longer hair in it, and his smile is more like a smirk, but Evan thinks it’s a nice picture.

There aren’t any recent photos—they seem to stop around the time Connor and Zoe would have been in middle school. Evan makes his way up and walks through a room that’s similar to the living room downstairs, but it has a bigger TV, and a pool table. There’s a guitar leaning against a wall, along with what looks like cases for several different instruments that he doesn’t really know the names of.

He feels extremely out of place here.

There are two rooms to his right, both with the doors shut, and then one to the left, that...doesn’t even have a door on it. _Um._

Evan goes left.

It’s messy, but not nearly as messy as Connor’s car looked. There are clothes in a pile on the floor, and some on the bed, which is unmade. There are a few posters pinned up near the desk in the corner. A short, black bookcase sits next to the bed, filled with books—overflowing, actually, to the point where there are more that have to sit on the top than on the shelves themselves because there’s not enough room for all of them. There are superhero stickers on the side of the bookcase. They’re old and it looks like someone has tried very hard to peel them off, but Evan can make out a few Wolverines and Spidermans.

He doesn’t know where he should sit, or _if_ he should even sit, so he hovers, looking at the posters on the wall and the nail polishes on the desk, until Connor finally comes in. 

The taller teen sets his bag down on the floor and jumps up onto his bed. “So,” he says slowly. He’s observing his nails again. “Where were we?”

“Um. I asked you your favorite color and you said dark blue I think, and then I told you mine’s blue as well and you were like ‘so blue’s your thing what else is your thing’ and I was like trees, and then I kept going on and on about trees, and then I asked and you told me what your things are,” Evan answers. He takes a breath, then says, “Your mom seems nice?”

Connor scoffs. “Yeah, _seems_. She asked me if I was forcing you to be here, which, what the fuck does that even mean, and then when I said no, she thought maybe you  _had_ to be here because you got assigned to be my partner for a class project or something. She didn’t believe me when I said we’re just hanging out. She probably would have interrogated you. Fair warning, she might actually try to, probably next time. Also, are you planning on just standing there the whole time, or?”

 _Never mind, then,_  Evan thinks. Frowning slightly, he lowers himself into the desk chair. There’s a hole in the wall next to the doorframe, he notices from the new angle. “N-Next time?”

Connor shrugs like he’s trying to be nonchalant, but his cheeks are turning a little red. It kind of reminds Evan of Jared. “Um, I just meant. If you wanted to do this again. Friends usually, uh, hang out more than once.”

Relieved, Evan nods. _You don’t have to worry about asking him that now, because he was already thinking it, and he just said it for you!_ It’s one small thing off his chest. “No, yeah, I do want to. I’d like that a lot.”

“It doesn’t have to be here,” Connor says awkwardly.

Evan shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s fine, I don’t mind. I actually—” He clears his throat. “I live like two streets away? So—so it’s convenient. You could maybe come over to my house sometimes too. If you want.”

“If we’re making this. A regular thing.” Connor says, voice strained, sort of finishing off the rest of Evan’s thought. His mouth twists to the side in a wry, open-mouthed smile. “Jesus, we’re fucking terrible at this.” 

Evan gives a little laugh and tugs at the bottom of his shirt. “Good thing I’m not the only one thinking that, I guess?”

“I mean,” Connor continues, a little louder, “So far we’ve just been talking, like, about the _lamest_ shit possible.”

Evan cracks a smile, hunched over in the chair. He nods towards the bookshelves. “Do you, um, have a favorite?”

They spend the next few hours talking about books they like, books that they read when they were kids (Connor liked Where the Wild Things Are, and The Little Prince, and read lots of comics; Evan loved The Giving Tree, of course, and Connor’s tiny smile when Evan tells him this is very sweet) and movies they like, and then they talk about how annoying their Econ teacher is, and then Evan pulls out his phone to look at the time and realizes he should probably go. He turns his phone over in his hands as Connor tells him about how their teacher makes him stay behind after class at least once a week to tell him that he needs to pay more attention, even though he has a B right now and it’s not like Mr. Smith actually teaches them anything anyways—he just tells the class his dumb, irrelevant, and sometimes even offensive life stories for most of the period and then says, “ _Read the chapters written on the board by tomorrow.”_  

Connor notices Evan fidgeting as he finishes talking. “Do you have to leave soon?”

“Um. Yeah, sorry. Just, I have a lot of—some homework for environmental science, so I should probably head home.” Evan doesn’t entirely want to leave, but. He does have to do his homework before it gets too late and he gets sleepy, but can’t sleep, because the anxiety of not having his homework done will keep him up, and then he’ll be awake for hours trying to finish it all even though he’s already so sleep deprived, and he’ll probably cry about it and then feel terrible in the morning.

So.

“Are you in AP?” Connor asks as he stands and stretches. He picks his bag up to get his keys out of it, then drops it back on the floor. It makes a soft thud. When Evan nods, he says, “Of course you are. Why’d you take that, if you already know everything about trees and shit? Come on, I’ll drive you back.”

Evan follows him out of the room and downstairs. “I mean—it’s more than just...trees and stuff? Actually, we only have one unit about forests. It’s mostly like, learning about environmental issues like waste management and pollution and climate change, and how it all ties together and—and stuff. Sorry.”

“Jesus, you apologize a lot.” Connor huffs. He looks back at Evan over his shoulder. “Fucking quit it, dude. I heard the teacher for that class is really good.”

“Sorry,” Evan says again, feeling his face heat up. He hates himself so much.  _You wouldn't apologize so much if you_   _were never even born,_ that voice in the back of his head tells him, unhelpfully. “And y-yeah, he’s awesome. He like, actually cares about what he’s teaching? And he makes you start caring about it as much as he does.”

“Maybe I should have taken it,” Connor muses, swinging his keys.

He doesn’t sound that serious, so Evan doesn’t reply. Connor’s opening the door when Cynthia rushes out of the living room and stops them, saying, “It was wonderful having you, Evan. Why don’t you come over for dinner next week?” 

“Oh, uh,” Evan glances at Connor, panicked, but the taller boy just shrugs and makes a face like, _I told you_ , so Evan says, “That would be great, thank you.”

Cynthia smiles, clapping her hands together. “Great! How does Monday sound?”

“M-Monday’s good.”

“Well, we’ll see you then! Do you like lasagna, Evan?”

“Mom,” Connor says, saving Evan from having to stammer through another answer. “I have to drive him home.”

“Okay,” she says, still smiling warmly. “Goodbye, Evan! And be back before your dad’s home, Connor.”

Connor groans. “I’m literally just going to his house and coming back. It’s not far.”

He drives Evan home—it takes less than two minutes to make it there—in comfortable silence. Evan gets out of the car and then he stands there for a second, holding the door. “Thanks.”

Connor nods, says, “Don’t forget your backpack.” Evan gets it from the back, and then the other teen says, “See you."

“See you,” Evan echoes awkwardly, and then backs away from the car so Connor can go.

 

-

 

Evan keeps thinking about all the things he said while he was _hanging out_ with Connor. They just keep repeating over and over in his head, and he’s picking out all the ways that he probably sounded stupid, and he hates himself. 

It’s been so long since he’s let himself talk like that. Since he’s just...had a _conversation_ with someone. 

And he’s having a lot of trouble wrapping his head around the fact that this is real, that he’s not hallucinating or something. Or that the past few days haven’t been a weird fever dream. He pinches himself on the arm like he did a few days ago, and then sighs. 

He wants to say he likes Connor, but he doesn’t really know.

 _He seems, like, alright. Fine_. _But it’s too soon to be sure about anything, because, well. He’s kind of known for being unpredictable, and you’re...you._

_No use getting your hopes up._

_Especially if you're not even going to live till the end of this year. Yeah, new friendships don't really matter when you're a suicide risk._

With a sigh, he pushes his thoughts to the back of his mind as well as he can. (Which is not that well.)

He has homework to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment, feedback is greatly appreciated!! 
> 
> follow me on tumblr @ jamesborky


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner at the Murphy household.

The next Monday, Evan walks into Econ to see Connor sitting on top of the desk next to his. He has his earphones in and his back is turned toward him, so Evan goes around and taps his arm to get his attention. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Connor says, looking somewhat bored as he yanks one earbud out. “I’m, uh. I’m gonna sit here now.”

“Okay, cool,” Evan says. _He wants to sit next to you. He wants to sit by you!_ His brain seems to short-circuit a little. “How, um, how was your weekend?”

“Fine,” Connor lifts his shoulder in a half shrug, and then changes the subject. “Can you still come over for dinner today?”

“Yeah, totally!” Evan says, and then winces internally at himself. _Totally? Who even are you?_

It’s hard to read him, but Connor seems somewhat...happy...to hear this? Or maybe he’s just amused at Evan’s word choice. (Evan’s anxiety is telling him it’s definitely not the former thing.) “Cool. My mom’s really excited. She’s making this, like, probably inedible, gluten-free lasagna thing.”

“No, that—that sounds good,” Evan says. His dinner every day for the past few weeks has just consisted of either pizza, instant noodles, or box mac and cheese. “I-I like trying new things. Foods, I mean.”

“Well fuck, my parents are just gonna love you.”

Evan opens his mouth, and a nervous laugh comes out. “Um, no, I’m,” he says, still laughing awkwardly, “I’m not that great and I will definitely embarrass the both of us and you’ll regret ever agreeing to this.”

Connor tilts his head at him, and Evan says, “I’m really sorry in advance,” and then the bell rings for class to start.

One thing Evan notices now that Connor sits right next to him—he notices it in just one forty minute period, that’s how bad it is—is that he’s literally never still. His leg is constantly bouncing up and down, and his hands are always busy, either tapping a pen against his desk or twirling it between his fingers or doodling in that sketchbook Evan recognizes from before. Evan thinks back to Connor tapping his fingers on the wheel while driving, and the way he picked at his nails for most of the time they talked while in Connor’s room. Here and now, it’s more than a little distracting, but also. It’s endearing. Which he knows is strange to think about a guy he hasn’t known for very long at all, but it just is, because it makes him seem a tiny bit less intimidating—to know that he has strange little tics like Evan does.

The day goes on. After school, Evan walks home. He does some homework, then kind of just sits around waiting for Connor to pick him up. He starts to think about writing a letter to himself, to pass the time, but he likes writing them at the end of the day. So he watches some TV instead, not really paying attention to what’s on, because he’s so anxious about dinner.

 **outside** , Connor texts around six o’clock. Then, less than thirty seconds after Evan reads the message, there’s two loud honks outside the house.

Evan looks at himself in the mirror on his way out. He doesn’t like how he looks—he never does, but like. His clothes are bothering him, for many reasons, and...He frowns at his reflection and tries to fix his hair somehow, even though he doesn’t know what’s _wrong_ with it in the first place, just knows it doesn’t feel right.

_This is how your hair always is, just leave it, stop it, he’s gonna honk again, he’s gonna be annoyed that you’re taking so long._

He sighs, and then he’s out the door and before he knows it, in the Murphy’s living room.

If Evan thought Connor and Zoe were intimidating, then, well. Larry Murphy is something else entirely. He can’t seem to wrap his head around why Evan is there (which, Evan understands better than anyone, but still), and keeps asking things that feel like trick questions and Connor keeps muttering, “Seriously?” and, “Can you stop?”

Cynthia comes in to save them. “Dinner’s ready! Connor, go up and tell your sister.”

Connor, instead, chooses to go to the foot of the stairs and scream at the top of his lungs, “Zoe! Dinner!” and then comes back.

Evan follows the three of them into the dining room. His hands are sweaty, and he chews on the inside of his cheek.

“Evan, the lasagna is gluten-free,” Cynthia lets him know, just like Connor said it would be. “And vegan!”

Larry makes a face as he takes a seat at the head of the table, but then he looks at Evan and says, “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

Evan doesn’t know how to react to that.

Connor falls into the chair farthest from his dad, and Evan slowly sits down next to him. He’s across from Cynthia, and tries to keep eye contact with her as best as he can. (He is so bad at eye contact.) “No, it sounds great, I-I’m a—I’m mostly vegetarian, actually, so?”

“You are?” Connor asks. Evan nods at him.

“Oh, that’s so interesting,” Cynthia says. Zoe comes in, then, taking the last seat—next to her mom, across from Connor. “Zoe, Evan’s a vegetarian. Isn’t that neat?”

Zoe looks at him like she’s trying to figure out something. “Yeah. Neat.”

The room is quiet for a moment, except for the clinking of silverware against plates, and then Cynthia asks, “What made you want to go vegetarian, Evan?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Evan says uncomfortably, gripping his fork tight. “I just wanted to, just because, I guess, and um, the meat and dairy industry is—is kind of bad. So.”

His voice is too small, and it cracks a little.

“That’s very true,” Cynthia agrees.

“Mom’s been vegan for like six months now,” Zoe tells him. “Just for fun. So we all get to eat _yummy_ vegan stuff _all_ the time.”

“Zoe, don’t say that about your mom’s cooking,” Larry chides. Then he repeats what he said before, somewhat jokingly. “It’s not  _that_ bad.”

Again, Evan doesn’t know what to say. Connor slumps further down in his seat, and Zoe reaches over to get a napkin from the napkin holder, even though it’s much closer to her brother and she probably could have just asked him to pass it to her.

The rest of dinner passes with Cynthia and Larry asking him questions about school and what he wants to do in college and what he does for fun. Evan small-talks as best as he can, cringing at himself on the inside the entire time, and he takes seconds, and tells Cynthia the food is really good, and she beams at him and says he can take home leftovers if he wants, and he nods politely and says he would like that very much. Connor rolls his eyes so hard they might fall out of his skull.

“So how are you guys even friends?” Zoe asks, almost accusingly. Her eyes are on Evan again. “Because the last and _only_ time I saw you two together was when he told you to fuck off.”

“You did _what?_ ” Cynthia demands, at the same time that Larry says, “Zoe, language.”

“What? It’s what _Connor_ said!”

“It wasn’t like that,” Evan stammers. He doesn’t entirely know why he’s trying to lie about what happened—he thinks he doesn’t want them to know, just because it’s embarrassing and makes him seem...well. He doesn’t really know. Besides, there are no hard feelings between them, because Connor apologized for it. “We were, um, just kidding around.”

“No you weren’t, I was there!” Zoe exclaims, scoffing. “He was straight up rude to you. And no offense, but you just seem way too nice to be hanging out with him."

“Jesus, why is it so hard to believe that I have a friend?” Connor mutters. He hasn’t been eating, just pushing food around his plate.

“Because you’re a massive dick?” Zoe replies. Evan’s eyebrows shoot up, and he’s glad he’s done eating because he probably would have choked a little.

Connor drops his fork down onto the table with a loud clatter. Larry repeats, “Language,” but he doesn’t _really_ seem to care that much, and then Zoe says, “ _Seriously_? Connor gets to do whatever he wants, but when _I_ swear, it’s the end of the _fucking_ world?” and Cynthia says, raising her voice, “Does anybody want dessert?”

“No thanks,” Connor answers as he gets up. His chair rocks backward from the sudden movement, and he walks out, and Evan looks around at the table before standing hastily as well and following him up to his room.

“Um,” Evan says, because what the hell is he supposed to say in this situation? He decides to just change the subject. “Um! I never asked before—why don’t you have a door?”

Connor sits down on the bed and looks at Evan warily. “My dad took it off.”

“Oh.” Maybe not the best topic to have chosen. “What, um—why?”

“I did some stupid shit,” Connor says. He looks almost regretful for a second, remembering something, but then his expression goes blank again. “It was—it doesn’t matter. But he thought I didn’t deserve privacy anymore, I guess, so. That’s why.”

“That’s…” Evan searches for the right words. “That sucks.”

The desk chair isn’t in the room anymore, for some reason, which means the only other place to sit is on the bed—or, like, the floor—but Evan knows he’d feel extremely awkward and uncomfortable sitting there, so he stands by the bookcase and looks at the titles that they talked about last time.

“Yeah.”

He’s on his back now, staring up at the ceiling, so Evan thinks it’s safe to look at him without seeming creepy. Everything about Connor is long—long hair fanned out around his head, long skinny limbs, long fingers drumming against his chest.

Evan wants to understand the full nature of Connor’s relationship with his family, wants to ask if it’s always like that between them, or if he just...happened to witness them on a weird day. Evan thinks about the photos in the hallways. The family looks pretty happy in them. But then—there’s the argument, and the stuff Connor said about his mom before, and the way every time his dad opened his mouth Connor looked like he genuinely wanted to punch the man in the face. And how tense he seemed the first day Evan came over, and how he didn’t eat anything at dinner tonight, shoulders drawn tightly in that same way.

It’s confusing, but Evan won’t say anything about it. He’s only known Connor for like a week. They’re not  _really_ friends. It’s not something Evan can just ask about.

Instead, he decides to sit next to Connor on the edge of the bed, despite his discomfort, and asks him if he’s more of a Marvel or DC person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it looks like I can't hold back more than two days to post another chapter woooo! I know it was very short but anyways
> 
> follow me on tumblr @jamesborky OR follow my new DEH sideblog @jaredklein!! I'm going to start posting fanart sketches and stuff on there so check it out :-)
> 
> thank u for commenting! please continue to do so, it means a lot to me and feedback is greatly appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more Murphy siblings interaction. The boys hang out again. Evan tells a lie.

Evan hasn’t seen his mom in like three days.

Well, he saw her for a few seconds on Saturday after her shift, but she had to leave for class right away, so they didn’t even get to say a word to each other. She’s been much more busy than usual, lately, and it makes him feel mad but also...guilty. Because he knows she’s just taking more shifts so that they have more money for college. He feels guilty for being mad about it all and then guilty because he doesn’t even want to live to go to college.

He hasn’t started any of those scholarship essays yet. He knows he needs to, but he opens up the word document, and seeing the empty white page with the little cursor line blinking at him, like a threat, almost—it sends him into more of a panic than even his suicidal thoughts do, these days.

Because he’s gotten so used to those that they barely even faze him anymore, always there in the back of his mind, always there when he slips up a little.

He goes to bed on Monday wishing his mom were home, thinking that maybe if she were here, he could just walk down the hall to her room and talk to her about it. The noises in his head.

By Tuesday, when he’s walking home from school, that idea has passed. They aren’t close like that anymore, the way they used to be, and even if they were—she’s never around, so. It doesn’t matter.

  


-

  


Connor gives Evan a ride home on Wednesday, for no reason other than he just wants to—at least, that’s what he says. He seems like he’s in a good mood. As the two of them near the van, Zoe comes into view. She’s leaning on the hood, guitar case on her back, and her backpack sits on the ground beside her feet. She’s on her phone. Connor’s expression upon seeing her there immediately changes into a scowl.

“Hey Zoe,” Evan says.

She looks up and smiles at him. “Hey Evan.”

“No practice today?” Connor asks as he unlocks the car. It’s an innocent question, but his tone is bitter.

Frowning slightly, Zoe says, “Just unlock the trunk and help me.”

“Why don’t you learn how to fucking drive already,” Connor mutters. He opens the trunk and takes the case from her, putting it in. “Jesus, this thing is heavy.”

“Shotgun,” is all she says in reply, quickly getting in the car. “And I have my permit, so fuck you.”

“Uh, no, Evan gets shotgun,” Connor says. “Get the fuck out, you’re sitting in the back.”

“That’s okay!” Evan interrupts, trying to stop things from escalating. “I’ll sit in the back, no worries!”

He gets in before Connor can say anything else. He has to move a bunch of things to the side to have room. Some of it falls onto the floor, and he apologizes profusely, picking it all up, and Connor just stands outside the car, staring at the two of them. “You’re the worst,” he tells Zoe, and then sits down and slams the door behind him.

“Fuck you,” she says as they exit the parking lot. (She says this a lot.)

Evan sits crammed in the back and gets to better witness the awfulness that is the Murphy siblings’ relationship. The two of them bicker nonstop, but it’s not the good-natured kind of bickering—it’s mean, and there are no rules, and Connor’s driving is way worse when he’s like this. Evan grips his seatbelt tightly and tries not to panic, because this doesn’t involve him. Connor’s eyes meet his a few times in the rearview mirror, and he looks angry and exhausted.

Evan always wished he had a brother or sister when he was younger. Someone to play games with, talk to, tell secrets to. It makes him kind of sad to realize that maybe the Murphys aren’t like what he pictured siblings to be. He tries to remember what Connor and Zoe were like in elementary and middle school, but he can’t recall seeing Connor around very often back then, let alone seeing the two of them together. They look pretty happy in those family photos, though, taken around that time.

When they pull up in front of his house, he practically jumps out, throwing a "See you guys,” over his shoulder, and bolts inside. He takes a few deep breaths. Looks out the window to see that the van is still there.

Connor is resting his head on the steering wheel, and Zoe is talking to him, and then he sits up and looks at her with  _venom_ in his eyes and yells something.

Evan lets go of the blinds and retreats to his room, feeling very much like he’s seen something he shouldn’t have.

  


-

  


The next time they hang out is at Evan’s house, that weekend. Connor comes over in the afternoon with his Playstation—which is a huge surprise—and they hook it up to the TV in the living room. When Connor hands him a controller, he clears his throat and says, “Um.”

Connor turns his head to look back at him, fiddling with something on the console. “What?”

“Just. I’ve never—um. I never had one of these, or like, any games as a kid, really, so I don’t know how to. Play. Or whatever.”

“Oh,” Connor says, blinking. “Well, it’s not hard, I’ll show you.”

Evan picks up pretty fast, but he’s not very good. They play some game where they have to kill zombie-nazis, and Evan has a lot of feelings about things like this, things that are needlessly violent, but he figures it’s just a game, and if he has to shoot somebody, then it _should_ be zombie-nazis. He tells Connor this, and he laughs loudly in response, and Evan smiles shyly, enjoying it.

“So you never played _any_ video games growing up?” Connor asks as he blows up a zombie base. “I’m not, like, judging, by the way. It probably explains why you’re so nice. You were never desensitized to violence like the rest of us.”

Evan snorts. “Maybe,” he says. Doesn’t say, _I’m not nice, I’m the opposite of nice, you haven’t seen the inside of my head, it gets pretty violent sometimes._ He shoots at someone, though he’s not completely sure if they’re an enemy. “But, um, we never had the money for that kind of thing, so no. Just books and puzzles and that kinda thing for me. When we were little and I went over to Jared’s, his mom would make him play Wii with me...but he never let me touch any of his other stuff. He had a Gamecube, and an X-Box, and he got like every new DS that came out, and all of the best games for them. I was so jealous of him.”

“That’s really—dude, Evan, stop shooting me.”

Evan says, “Oh, fuck, sorry,” as Connor yells, “I’m on your team, stop!” and then there’s an extremely unsettling groan from Connor’s player as he falls over and dies.

Connor leans against the back of the couch, throwing his controller to the side. “You’re supposed to shoot the ones in _red_.”

“Sorry!” Evan says again, trying to make his player jump over a pile of rubble. He’s too slow, and gets shot at least ten times in a row. His player screams, and then the screen goes dark and asks if they would like to start over.

Evan sighs in defeat, and looks over at Connor, who has one arm over the back of the couch. His cheeks are pink. “You suck at this,” he tells Evan, grinning.

“Hey, it’s not my fault!” Evan laughs. “You’ve had years of experience, I’ve had none.”

Connor raises his eyebrows at him in a way that borders on suggestive, and Evan immediately feels his face turning red. As Connor picks up his controller again, Evan gets up abruptly and walks into the kitchen. “Do you—um, do you want anything to eat or drink?”

Connor turns around completely to look at him, says, “I’m good.”

Evan stands in front of the pantry for a good minute. He’s not hungry, but he started feeling...a little too much, so. He needs a break. He’s been letting his guard down around Connor, and he’s noticed he doesn’t stutter around him, as much as he probably used to, and as much as he does around others. It’s strange. He keeps thinking about how they’ve only known each other for a couple of weeks, so it doesn’t make sense for him to feel so...comfortable around him.

_And yet._

He looks over at the couch. Connor’s restarted the game and is cursing at the TV.

When he sits back down next to him, he makes his player shoot itself so that he can restart the game again, and hands Evan his controller.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Evan says with a laugh, taking it from him. He folds his legs so he can tuck his feet under the couch cushion.

“So your mom’s a nurse?” Connor asks as they play.

“Yeah, and she’s studying to be a, um, a paralegal.”

“That’s like, a law thing, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What about your dad?” Connor asks. “You didn’t get to mention him the other day. At dinner.”

“I’m not really sure what he does?” Evan says quietly. And then, before he can tell the truth—he does the opposite. “Just—He’s away a lot! Um, on—on business trips.”

“Oh. Cool.” Connor glances over at him.

Evan shrugs, already fabricating the rest of the lie in his head: _Whenever he’s home, we have movie marathons. He’s a good cook, better than my mom, and he always makes dinner for us. He lets me have a beer with him, sometimes. We go to football games together. He taught me the right way to break in a baseball glove. And how to ride a bike. (He doesn't live ten states away. He doesn't have two kids with another woman. He doesn't only talk to Evan through email every now and then, or the occasional phone call, even rarer.)_

Fuck, he’s literally just made a Sort Of Friend and not even two weeks in, he’s already lying to him. He hits the wrong button on his controller a few times before realizing it.

Connor seems to understand that maybe he should change the subject. “Hey,” he says. “I know a place we could go next time, to hang out.”

“Okay,” Evan says, leaning back. Ignoring the way his stomach is churning. “Where?”

“Um. Are you okay with surprises?”

 _Not really,_ Evan thinks, but he sort of half-shrugs, half-nods instead.

“Cool,” is all Connor says. “I think you’ll like it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo at this rate it looks like updates are probably just going to be every couple days because I have no self control!
> 
> follow me on tumblr @jamesborky or on my new DEH sideblog @jaredklein
> 
> thanks for reading, comments are greatly appreciated <3!!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan and Jared have a talk. Evan and Connor go to the orchard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a wild jared kleinman appears!

Jared comes up to him at his locker after third period on Tuesday and says, “Dude, what the fuck.”

Evan turns to face him slowly, holding a textbook close to his chest. _???_ is all that goes through his head. He waits for the other teen to continue.

“ _What the fuck_ ,” Jared repeats. He says nothing else. His eyes are wide, and he flings himself backwards against the lockers, arms crossed. Evan flinches at the loud clang his backpack makes against the metal.

“I—What is this in reference to?”

“You’re hanging out with _Connor Murphy_ now? Who _are_ you?”

Evan shrugs. His hands are kind of clammy. “He’s—he’s nice.”

“ _Nice_?” Jared says incredulously, laughing. “Have you lost your freaking mind? Connor Murphy is _batshit_ crazy. He’s a freak. Remember when he threw a printer at Mrs. G. in the second grade because he didn’t get to be the line leader that day? I’m seriously concerned for you.”

“It was third grade.” Evan tells him weakly. “He’s nice to me!”

“Evan.”

“Just...I—I appreciate the concern, but he’s—”

“If you say nice again I’m gonna throw a tantrum right here in front of everyone. I’m gonna throw shit, I swear to god.”

“Oh my god you’re so dramatic,” Evan says in one breath, and then before he can think better of it, says, “Are you sure _you’re_ not the one who’s a freak?”

Jared blinks at him. “Who the fuck _are_ you?” He sounds amazed, but also kind of upset. “Fuck you, Evan.”

Evan sighs. “I’m sorry, okay, I didn’t mean that—except for the dramatic part. Fine, maybe Connor’s not _nice_ , maybe he’s a little…”

“ _Damaged?_ ” Jared says. “Or should I say it again, in case you didn’t hear me before—batshit crazy—”

“Jared, come on,” Evan says, exasperated. “Just—have you ever thought about. Like. How much of the stuff you’ve heard about him is even _true_?”

“Are you trying to get with Zoe?” Jared demands, electing to ignore what Evan is saying.

“No!” Evan exclaims. Then he looks around, and lowers his voice when he sees that a couple of people are looking over at them. “You know I don’t like her that way anymore. Why are you even this mad? You—you don’t really care about what I do anyways.”

Jared looks down. Kicks his feet. Something in his expression has changed. “Whatever, dude, I’m just looking out for you. I never see you anymore, lately, and then I find out it’s because you’re hanging out with _this_ fucking guy, and. I don’t know! I know sometimes we don’t...get along but you usually...tell friends—” He coughs. “Tell me stuff. And you didn’t tell me about this."

And, okay, _what? What does_ that _mean?_

Evan pauses. _What if…_

 _Maybe you had it wrong, maybe you were more than just family friends—maybe you were_ actual _friends? Or close, and Jared didn’t realize it till now?_

“Are you jealous of Connor?” He asks, tentatively. It’s not exactly the right thing to say, but.

Jared looks up, bewildered and annoyed. “Are you serious? _No,_ what the hell, I was just worried that he was forcing you to be around him and then you—developed like, Stockholm syndrome, or something—”

“Sure,” Evan says, and then he’s unable to hold back his smile. He doesn’t quite know what to do with this information, with the fact that Jared...kind of views him as a friend.

“—which, I’m still not entirely convinced that you _don’t_ have Stockholm syndrome, so. I’ll just have to hang around you until I’m sure.” His face is a little red.

“Okay,” Evan says. He’s dealt with Jared since kindergarten. They still have a lot to talk about, but he can handle this. He’s handling it pretty well, to be honest. “You, um, want to come over today? To make sure I don’t have Stockholm syndrome.”

Jared tries to look uninterested, and says with a slight roll of his eyes, “Sure, whatever.”

 

-

 

And then things with Jared are...good. Just like that. Which has Evan very confused. They order a pizza, and Jared makes fun of Evan for not wanting to answer the door for the delivery guy, but he does it for him anyways. And then Evan makes fun of him for getting pineapple on his half of the pizza, and Jared flips him off and tells him that pineapple on pizza is god-tier.

They watch TV as they eat, and talk about their homework, and catch up on other things, and Don’t Talk about Connor, and it’s alright. It’s fun, even.

So Evan’s day turns out pretty good.

 

_-_

 

Connor keeps his promise—after school that Friday, they drive to the mysterious place, and Evan tries not to panic in the car, to no avail. _What if he’s taking you somewhere you’ll hate like what if there are lots of people there or it’s crowded or you don’t fit in because you’re underdressed or overdressed or something, what if you’re going somewhere where you have to eat and then you’re worried about what you look like when you eat in front of him, what if he’s pulling a prank on you like when you get there some guy will pop out and be like “Psych! You really thought he would want to be your friend?” and then there’ll be a video of you going around on the internet and it’ll ruin your life and Jared will say he told you so and he_ definitely _won’t want to associate with you after you’re The Guy Who Went Viral For Being A Pathetic Loser With No Friends._

 _Okay, fuck, calm down, think. Do you really think Connor would do that to you?_ Evan swallows. His first thought is no _._ But then he’s not so sure. He _has_ decided that he likes Connor, but no matter what he believes, he’ll always doubt himself, and he has no real reason to believe that anyone wants to be around him ever. So.

“We’re here,” Connor says in a slightly sing-song voice, getting out of the car. Evan snaps out of it and scrambles out after him.

They’re at—oh. All the air rushes out of him at once, and then he can breathe again.

“I remember this place!” Evan says. They’re at the old apple orchard, where he spent a lot of time as a child. A lot of the people who grew up here did. “My mom and I came here like every weekend, back when she didn’t work so much! I mean, and my dad, too, of course, whenever he was home from his...business trips.” _Why why why would you say that, stop furthering the lie, oh my god._ He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and digs his nails deep into his palms out of sheer hatred of himself, and then it passes. “And I remember—we had, um, class field trips here, and they had events all the time, like—”

“Like those movie nights in the summer where they’d set up a projector in the big field, and everyone would bring lawn chairs and blankets with them,” Connor says. He’s smiling, and the corners of his eyes are all crinkly. “And you could go apple picking in the fall. My parents would bring me and Zoe here all the time.”

Evan looks at him in both wonder and surprise, and he feels something happy swell in his chest. It’s an emotion he does not deserve. He ducks his head, and says, “So, why—um—”

Connor gestures vaguely towards the fence. “Well I just figured—you like trees, and so...yeah, that was basically it.”

Evan can’t believe any of this.

“Come on,” Connor says, beginning to walk.

Evan follows, looking behind him nervously. Connor parked the car in the dirt, not too far from the fence. “D-Didn’t this place close down a few years ago?”

“Yeah?” Connor says, like _yeah, and?_

And then he’s hopping over the fence.

“Uh,” Evan says, standing there awkwardly. _Is this trespassing? It’s probably definitely illegal in some way._ Connor turns around, several feet ahead of him on the other side.

“Evan, come _on_ , there’s nothing to worry about, I swear. I do this all the time.”

“Oh, that makes me feel much better,” Evan says, and then he climbs over as well, much more clumsily than the other teen did.

Connor snorts and continues walking. There’s a sort of trail still visible beneath the grass, which is thick and reaches up to Evan’s knees. It’s this shade of yellow that turns golden where the sunlight hits it. Evan feels warm in the best way possible.

After a few minutes of trekking through in comfortable silence, they reach an open field that’s framed with trees—the place where movie nights were held and families had picnics, like Connor reminded him. They sit where the grass is shorter and green, and Connor pulls up bits of it between his fingers. “I know this is weird, and I miss the way it was when it was open, but—I honestly like it better like this. With no one around.”

Evan nods, shuffling a little closer. “No, I get it. It’s peaceful.”

Connor lays down, staring up at the sky. Evan stays sitting with his legs criss-cross, hands gripping his ankles. “Do you feel weird that this is our last year of high school?” Connor asks.

Evan shrugs. “I mean, yeah? I-I try not to think about it too much because it makes me really...anxious.” Then he asks, “What about you?”

“I kind of feel like I’m going crazy,” Connor says with a sort of twist to his mouth. “‘Cause like, growing up, all these people and even my teachers told me that I’d probably never finish high school, but…”

“But here you are,” Evan finishes.

“Yeah. Well. Not yet, but soon.”

“Yeah. I feel like time is going by so fast and I want it to slow down so I—so that I have time to sort everything out, and figure out what I’m gonna do about college, but then I remember that I hate high school and just want it to be over with as soon as possible...you know?”

“Yeah,” Connor sighs heavily. He closes his eyes. Evan watches the way his eyelashes flutter slightly. “Where do you wanna go?”

“Um. I mean it doesn’t matter because I’m—I’m probably just going to have to go to community college anyways.”

Connor cracks one eye open. “There’s nothing wrong with community college.”

“No, I know, just...” Evan tries to find the right words. They don’t come to him. Then again, they never really do.

A few minutes pass. Evan looks at the trees, and Connor lays there watching the clouds pass overhead, and they just sort of bask in each other’s presence for a while.

“What do you know about apple trees,” Connor asks quietly, breaking the silence first.

“Well,” Evan says, and tells him. They talk about how apple trees can live a hundred years, and how long it takes for the fruit to produce, and how (”this isn’t specifically an _apple_ tree fact,” Evan says as a disclaimer, “but,”) there’s a rule, Da Vinci’s rule of trees, which says that all the branches of a tree put together are the same thickness as its trunk, and how this is said to be true.

They stay there until the sun starts to set and the grass goes from gold to a vibrant orange hue, and then they walk back to the car as the clouds change colors as well.

“So what do you think?” Connor asks on the drive back to their neighborhood. He’s tapping his fingers quickly against the wheel.

“Yeah,” Evan says, then, “I mean—I liked it! A lot.”

Connor looks over at him, eyes narrowed. “You’re not just saying that because you’re scared I’ll be disappointed or freak out on you something, right?”

“No! Seriously, I really liked it. Thank you. For, um—for sharing it with me.”

Connor seems happy with this. He reaches back with one hand for a random CD, and pops in the first one he can grab. He starts humming along to the first song that plays—it’s something kind of gloomy, with heavy guitar and a lot of drums—and Evan smiles to himself as he watches houses pass by out the window, weirdly content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just putting it out there that I fixed some spacing issues with the first two chapters, so that's all good now. if anyone notices any errors or idk anything weird, please let me know!
> 
> I love jared very very much n I'm trying to do him justice! he's kind of a bigger part of the fic later on.
> 
> follow me on tumblr @jamesborky or follow my sideblog where I'm gonna start posting DEH fanart n stuff soon because I do art too! @jaredklein


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heidi Hansen is a good mom, ft. some soft Connor

Evan has his laptop open to type up a new letter to himself, but he doesn’t get the chance to start, because his mom walks into his room.

“Hey sweetie,” she says, leaning against the doorframe. “How was your day?”

“Good, fine,” he says, looking down at his hands on the keyboard. “You’re home early?”

“Yeah, we were overstaffed tonight, for once, so they sent me home,” she smiles. “We can have dinner together! Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Yeah,” Evan says, and it _does_ , except— “Except, um, I already ate? So…”

“Oh.” Her smile falters. “Well that’s okay, come downstairs anyways, we can have ice cream.”

She wiggles her eyebrows at him, and he laughs. “Okay.”

They eat the ice cream straight out of the carton, because there’s not enough of it left to justify getting bowls. It’s some cheap brand, coffee flavored, and it isn’t his favorite, but he doesn’t mind. He’s just happy to get to hang out with his mom for a little bit. And he doesn’t care how lame that thought probably is.

“Hey, how about I ask for a night off this week?” She’s saying. “I mean, when was the last time we had a taco Tuesday?”

“I—” Evan feels so bad. “I actually have plans Tuesday? And Wednesday, also. Um.”

“Oh,” she says, in that same tone as before. “Really?”

“Yeah, um, with my friend.”

“Oh, Evan, that’s great!” She gets up to put their spoons in the sink and then turns to face him again, leaning on the counter. “Is it Jared?”

“No, it’s, um, someone else—”

“Is it—what was his name? Adam! Or what about Sophia? How is she?”

Evan’s stomach sinks, and he kind of wants to cry. All throughout high school, his mom never stopped asking him _have you made any friends yet,_ and she always looked so disappointed whenever he told her no, so at the beginning of junior year he lied and told her he finally _had_ made friends. He came up with fake names and backstories for them and everything, and she had believed every word he said. Adam was the first one. Sophia came immediately after the happy look on his mom’s face. She was just so _proud_ of him and it spiraled, the way it always does with him. All he ever does is lie to her, and for what? She still worries constantly, because he’s still a complete mess. The worst son in the world.

“N-No, um. His name is Connor.” Evan bites his nails nervously.

“Well that’s _really_ great,” she exclaims. She looks happy, and seems proud of him, in that same, almost suffocating way. “I’m so happy for you, honey, you’re stepping out of your comfort zone again!”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” he says, cracking a small smile.

She sits back down at the table. “So tell me about him! What’s he like?”

“He’s...in my Econ class,” Evan says. He glances down at his cast, where Connor’s signature is still there, taking up most of the space. (Jared’s name is also there now, too, scrawled inside the first “O” in "Connor") “We usually hang out at his house. He’s been here a couple times, too.”

“Well, I’m gonna ask for a night off anyway—how about a couple weeks from now, and you can have him over?”

“Oh, um, I dunno, Mom, he’s—”

“Come on!” She says, and she’s just so excited for him that Evan already wants to give in. “I wanna meet this new friend, for once!”

“Okay,” He relents. “I’ll ask him.”

She grins. “I’m so happy for you, honey,” she says again, and ruffles his hair on her way out of the kitchen.

 

-

 

Autumn comes fast. Soon the trees in the orchard are covered in red and yellow leaves, and the air is crisp, and Evan gets to see Connor in _sweaters._

Today, he’s wearing a dark grey one. The sleeves cover his thumbs. He’s sitting at his desk in Econ, humming something under his breath while he draws in his sketchbook.

“I like this Connor,” Evan tells him, sitting down. When Connor looks up, confused, he thinks _why would you say that that’s not just something people_ say, _what the hell?_ He clarifies, “I just mean—you seem happier lately, kind of. You’re the kind of person who—um. You like cold weather?”

Evan fights the urge to cringe at himself.

Connor shrugs, but a smile tugs at his lips. “I guess.”

He shuts the sketchbook. Evan very much wants to see what’s inside it, but he’s not brave enough to ask.

“Hey, um, do you think you can come over for dinner sometime?” He questions instead, picking at his nails.

Connor furrows his brows. “Yeah?”

“I mean, for—with my mom. She wants to meet you.” Evan pulls off a hangnail, and it stings. He shouldn’t have done it. It’s bleeding now.

“Oh!” Connor says. “Sure. I mean, you had to suffer through meeting _my_ parents, so we’ll be even.”

Evan laughs and pulls out his notebook and a pen. The bell will ring soon.

“Wait, not that I meant I don’t want to—” Connor adds awkwardly, after a moment. “I’m sure your mom is...cool.”

“It’s okay, I know what you meant,” Evan reassures him, and isn’t that something. “I’ll let you know when she has a night off and you can come over. Her schedule is just, um, really crazy.”

Connor is biting his nails kind of distractedly. “Okay.”

They’ve started eating lunch together. It began the previous week, when Connor approached him at his usual lunch spot—underneath a large oak tree outside the school—and asked if he could join him. When Evan said yes, surprised, Connor told him, with a strange look, “Friends usually eat lunch together.” And that was that, and Connor has been there each day since. When the weather gets too cold, they’ll relocate to the library.

“Where did you eat lunch before?” Evan asks him today when they’re seated under the tree, opening a Tupperware container with apple slices inside. He’s still nervous to eat around Connor, like he is with everyone, but he packs food that’s easy to eat, and food that it would be very hard to embarrass himself with. _Still,_ his brain says to him, _you could probably find a way. You always do._

“I usually just go off campus,” Connor says with a shrug.

“Is that even...allowed?”

“No,” he laughs. Evan’s starting to really enjoy that sound. Connor has the kind of laugh that turns heads—and it often does. “You know, um. Back when I was a freshman, and I was scared to break the rules, or whatever, and I didn’t have my license—I just went to the bathroom and waited in there for like half an hour. I didn’t even eat. It was pathetic.”

Evan senses that he’s a little...shy, almost, about talking about this. Or maybe embarrassed. “I’ve always sat here,” Evan starts, glancing over as Connor’s mouth quirks up again slightly and his expression tells him to continue. “I used to sit in the cafeteria freshman year, a few times, with Jared, but it made me super, um, anxious to be around so many people? Plus he had recently started caring about things like popularity and being cool, so. He was just kind of annoying to be around.”

“Speaking of,” Connor says before taking a sip from his water bottle. Evan watches his throat move as he swallows. “Uh, how’s that going?”

He’s referring to Evan’s newly rekindled friendship with Jared. Evan had texted Connor about it right after Jared apologized, and after they hung out and had pizza, as well. Connor had been apathetic about it—which was okay. Totally fine. Jared had been a dick (and still is), so Evan wasn’t expecting anything less. He was just excited to have someone to tell. Connor seemed to understand that.

“Good!” Evan says, smiling. “He gives me rides to school now, sometimes? And actually, he, um, mentioned wanting to apologize to you, also.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Connor says with a little laugh.

 

-

 

After school, they go to Connor’s house, and Evan does his homework while Connor lays in bed on his phone. Occasionally he’ll tell Evan, “Look,” and show him a photo of a weird looking tree and ask Evan to identify it.

“Look,” Connor says for the fifth or so time, and when Evan looks up, it’s a picture of a giant tree, with a person standing in front of it, so small in comparison that they’re practically a speck.

“Sequoia,” Evan says confidently.

“What the fuck,” Connor mutters, looking impressed. “If they had competitions for this sort of thing—”

“For—for being a nerd?”

“Shut up." Connor waves a hand dismissively. “If they had competitions for, like, tree identification, you would win. First place, every time.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Evan says, face going red.

He goes back to his math homework. He’s been stuck on the same problem for about twenty minutes and he’s starting to think it’s a lost cause when he hears laughter coming up the stairs.

(It’s Zoe and Alana Beck. It seems like whenever Evan is over and Zoe’s home, Alana is there, too. The two of them spend most of their time together.)

Zoe pokes her head into the room. “Mom says dinner will be ready in ten,” she lets them know.

Alana appears behind her. “Hey, guys,” she says. Her gaze falls on the papers in front of Evan. “Oh, is that the Pre-Cal homework?”

“Yeah,” Evan sighs. “I don’t understand any of it.”

“I’m _really_ good at Pre-Cal,” she says, and Evan thinks tiredly, _good for you,_ but then she’s continuing, “I could tutor you sometime, if you want!”

“Oh, that—um, that would be really nice," he says, forcing a smile. “Thank you.”

She beams at him, and then follows Zoe down the hall.

“She hates me,” Connor says, sitting up and swinging his long, long legs over the side of the bed.

Evan has started putting his homework away, and pauses to look at him, confused. “Alana? She likes everyone.”

Connor huffs a sigh. “Yeah, everyone but me. She’s been friends with Zoe for a really long time. She knows firsthand just how much of a fucking terrible person I am. They probably talk about it all the time.”

Evan frowns, not knowing what to say to this. “You’re not a terrible person.”

“You don’t…” Connor trails off. He’s looking at Evan with a strange expression, and his shoulders are tensed like he’s uncomfortable or regrets ever bringing it up. Probably both. Evan gets it. “I guess I haven’t been, to you. But that doesn’t mean I’m—a good person.”

“Guys, food’s ready!” Cynthia calls, then, from downstairs, and they have to leave it at that.

Larry isn’t home—he’s on a work-related trip for a few days. This, plus the fact that Alana is there, means there isn’t a single awkward or uncomfortable moment at dinner. They talk and laugh freely, and even though Connor never joins in the conversation, he seems like he’s in an okay mood.

That night, when Evan falls asleep in his empty house, he dreams that he lives with the Murphys, and Cynthia cooks his favorite meal for them every night, and Connor wakes him up each morning. Jared's cat, for some reason, also lives with them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment and leave kudos and etc! it means a lot and gives me the motivation to edit and post new chapters :-)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared is a good friend. Evan has a weird day, and realizes something.

Jared has given Evan a ride to school maybe five times now, since the beginning of the school year.

He offered to, the day after he apologized and they hung out, like it was no big deal, and then he just...kept offering. Evan can’t quite wrap his head around it.

He pulls up to Evan’s house at 6:42 every morning, on the dot—which is an extremely early time to be leaving for school, but Jared likes to get there when the parking lot is mostly empty, and then hang out in the car until after seven. And Evan is usually awake by six anyways, whether he wants to be or not, so it’s fine with him. Today, he has a headache. It’s the kind that sort of throbs behind his eyes, and he’s more jittery than usual, and he stupidly forgot to take his meds this morning.

It’s going to be a long day.

“Okay, were we supposed to read till chapter four or five last night?” Jared asks him as he gets in the car. He’s referring to Frankenstein, which they’re currently reading for English class.

“Um, six, I think.” Evan’s voice cracks.

“Well, fuck.”

The radio is on. It’s very loud, and Evan doesn’t recognize the song. He bites his nails and his leg moves up and down and he has a headache the size of the sun.

“What is up with you, dude,” Jared says, looking over at him funny as he turns the music down. His glasses are slipping down like they always do. “You’re acting, like, like way more of a mess than usual.”

“Gee thanks Jared,” Evan mutters. His index finger is starting to bleed a little where the skin meets the top of his nail.

Jared stares at him for much longer than he should while he’s _driving_ , and then glances back at the road and asks, “Was it—did I say something?”

“What?”

“Like, if I said something stupid yesterday, and now you’re being weird because of it, or—” He sounds unsure of himself, insecure. It’s brief, but it’s still jarring to hear Jared’s voice take on that sort of tone.

“No!” Evan says in a rush. He grips the hem of his shirt so tight his hands hurt. “I’m just—I don’t know. Sorry. It’s a—a me thing. An anxiety thing.” Then, before he can stop himself, “I feel like I’m dying.”

 _What the hell why would you_ say _that and to_ Jared _of all people, he should kick you out of the car right now, yeah, he should just throw you out into the middle of the street for being such a_ weirdo _who can’t ever keep his mouth shut, and for definitely making him uncomfortable, because who the hell just says that?_

“Uh,” Jared says slowly, making a smooth turn. “Okay. I’m getting breakfast. What do you want?”

“I don’t—you don’t have to—”

“I’m already here, so,” Jared says. They’re pulling into a drive-thru. Laughing to himself a little, he adds, “Everybody’s dying, bitch, let’s get you some breakfast.”

It’s a reference to something, Evan thinks, but one he doesn’t get. So he just asks quietly for a breakfast sandwich without the meat and a water, and when the voice says, “What can I get for you?” Jared orders it loudly. He gets some huge frappe thing with lots of whipped cream for himself, as well as a blueberry scone.

“You owe me three bucks,” Jared tells him, handing the bag over. He turns out of the drive-thru one-handed.

“Okay,” Evan says.

They eat in the school parking lot. Jared turns up the radio again. It’s 6:49, and Evan feels a little better with some food in his stomach, as he listens to Jared sing some Top 40 song, and watches him slurp his weird, sugary drink.

  


-

  


Zoe unexpectedly joins them at lunch. Connor kind of just withdraws into himself when she sits down, and Zoe seems like she doesn’t really want to be there either. “All my friends are on that Aquatic Science field trip,” she explains. “And Alana’s doing some student council thing. I’m not gonna sit at our table by myself.”

“Why didn’t you go too?” Evan asks. “On the field trip, I mean.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “I’m not in Aquatics.”

“Oh,” he says, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry, just—most juniors are.” It’s true—it’s the easiest science class at their school, so people usually decide to take it then, because the rest of the workload is so heavy during junior year.

“Nope. I wanted to take Environmental Science this year, and I’m gonna take AP Bio next year.”

“You’re in APES?” Connor asks—Evan thinks for a split second how it’s a little bit strange, or maybe sad, that he doesn’t know what classes his sister is in—speaking up for the first time. “Evan’s taking that.”

She perks up. “You are? Oh my gosh, I don’t know anyone else who is—my class is full of seniors.”

Evan asks her if she likes it, and they spend a while discussing what they’re currently learning. (She, like Connor, doesn’t seem to have anything with her to eat, so Evan doesn’t take out his lunch either.) He’s in the middle of explaining to her what eutrophication is when Connor interrupts quietly, “Hey, um, do you have any chapstick?”

Zoe pulls a small tin of Carmex out of her backpack and hands it to him, then continues talking. But Evan’s attention is entirely on Connor, because the lip balm is _tinted_ , and his mouth is such a nice pink and his lips look so soft and full and Evan’s whole body jerks violently when he realizes where his thoughts are going.

“You good?” Connor asks, eyebrows raised. He passes the Carmex back to Zoe.

“What?” Evan says loudly, suddenly terrified that Connor knows what he’s thinking, like he can see into his brain somehow. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Connor says, drawing out the first syllable. He makes a face and goes back to whatever he’s drawing in his sketchbook.

Zoe’s looking between the two of them as if she’s confused by something. “ _Anyways_ ,” she says, like a question, shaking herself a little, and then asks Evan what he thought of their last test.

_So that was weird._

Evan has a lot to write in his letter tonight, and a lot to talk to Dr. Sherman about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jared is referencing mac in it's always sunny, because he absolutely watches that show and loves it.
> 
> thnx for reading!! please comment, leave kudos, etc, and follow me on my DEH sideblog @jaredklein


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sad boys being sad.

Another thing Connor has started doing is walking with Evan to most of his classes, even the ones that are far from his own.

Or sometimes, they’ll pass each other in the hallways, going in opposite directions, and Connor will reach out to punch Evan on the arm as he goes. And Evan turns and half-smiles at the back of Connor’s head, and pretends people aren’t looking at them weird.

If Jared is with him, he says, “Gay,” under his breath. Which is a dumb, insensitive comment that Jared’s been making about him for years. But.

Evan’s starting to think—deep, deep down, like way back in some corner of his mind where he’s going to shove it down and suppress forever—that maybe Jared is onto something there.

Which isn’t, like. He’s not having a crisis about his sexuality. He already _knows_ he’s bi. He already went through all of that questioning stuff freshman year.

It’s more of a... _I might have a crush on my only friend and it's going to eventually inevitably ruin everything between us_...Crisis.

 

-

 

One day in late September, Connor doesn’t come to school. He’s probably taking a sick day or something, Evan thinks as he eats lunch by himself for the first time in...what feels like forever.

He sends Connor a text: **_you okay?_ **

He doesn’t get a reply that day. In fact, he never gets any, even though Connor doesn’t show up the next two days and Evan probably sends him at least four more texts during that time.

On the third day of Connor’s absence, Evan sees Zoe in the hallway with her friends, and considers asking her about it, but he decides against it. He’s starting to wonder if he did something to make Connor avoid him. Maybe he said something that pissed him off, or maybe Connor found out somehow about Evan’s weird new Not Crush on him. Evan’s really racking his brain trying to think of things that he could have done or said, but there is so much dumb, embarrassing stuff he says on a daily basis and Connor is so touchy that really, it could be anything.

He’s starting to make himself a little sick overthinking it, until he stops himself and goes, _would he really miss three days of school just because of some tiny thing you think you did? Get over yourself._

The fourth day of radio silence is Saturday. Evan wakes up late and practically jumps out of bed when he sees he has a text from Connor.

**hey can i come over**

**_YES_** , Evan replies. He doesn’t even care that he’s being way too enthusiastic, because it’s been four freaking days.

He only has time to brush his teeth, because Connor is there less than five minutes after Evan sent the text. He opens the door still in his pajamas, and Connor looks him up and down, hands in his pockets, and blinks. “Did you just wake up?”

“It’s—it’s Saturday,” Evan says lamely. He opens the door wider for Connor to come in, and says, “Where have you _been_?”

“I…” Connor grimaces, stopping next to the stairs. “Can we...go somewhere else?”

“Um,” Evan thinks about it, then looks down at his plaid pajama pants and oversized T-shirt. “Okay, but I—I’m gonna go change first.”

He goes to his room and quickly puts on jeans and a nicer shirt, and then grabs a hoodie. He finds Connor standing in the living room, looking at a picture frame on the side table. It’s an old photo of Evan and his mom at the zoo.

Evan clears his throat, and Connor turns. “Are you okay with ice cream?”

Evan shrugs, then nods. It’s chilly out, but not so cold that ice cream sounds like a terrible idea.

Connor drives them to some place near the orchard called A La Mode. He doesn’t put on any music on the way, and the silence is almost stifling. When they park, Evan practically jumps out of the car because it’s so _awkward_ , and then they’re inside, and there’s only one person ahead of them in line and he realizes that he has to _give his order_ but he’s never been here before, and suddenly he’s unable to move.

Connor nudges his arm. “I’ll order for you, just tell me what you want.” His voice is close to Evan’s ear, and Evan’s stomach flutters a little as he exhales.

“Um, a scoop of sweet cream,” Evan tells him. “In a cup. Thank you.”

“Hi, what can I get for you?” The girl behind the counter smiles at them in a way that reminds Evan of Alana.

Connor gives her Evan’s order of sweet cream, except he tells her two scoops instead of one. Evan thinks he probably did so on purpose, and chooses not to say anything about it. “And uh,” Connor draws this out for at least a few seconds, eyes on the large list of flavors stuck to the wall behind her. “Two scoops of mint chocolate chip.”

“Cup or cone?”

“Cup. For both.”

She hands the ice cream to Connor with a quick, “Enjoy!” and he gives Evan his cup as they sit down at a table near the window.

“My parents and I got into a huge fight,” he says, once they’ve both started eating. “Like. The worst we’ve had in a long time. And it made me so fucking angry, and when I’m like that—it’s like I can’t think clearly, like all I can see is _red._ I just couldn’t be around anyone. So I stayed home the next day and got high out of my fucking mind.”

“Does that...help? Evan asks softly.

“Usually. I mean, It did for a while, but—” Connor sighs. “But I kept thinking about all the things that make me mad, and all the stuff that sucks about my life and how most of it is my fault, and my dad came in to tell me I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself, basically. And then I got stuck in this...like, self-destructive cycle, and...then two more days went by like that. And then yesterday, too. I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your texts. I saw them, but...I dunno.”

“It’s okay, I get it,” Evan says. Because he does. He’s done with his ice cream, but he doesn’t want to get up to throw the cup away just yet. “What did, um, what did you fight about?” Connor looks uncomfortable, so he adds quickly, “You don’t have to tell me! Like, if it’s too hard to talk about or too personal—”

Connor makes a face. “I think we’re in too deep now for me to say anything is…too personal. I mean, you’ve experienced how dysfunctional my family is, firsthand. So.”

Evan cracks a smile. “I guess you’re right. But you still don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“Noted,” Connor says, rolling his eyes a little, but it’s good-naturedly. “It started because I didn’t go down for dinner, and they just ate without me, without, like, asking if I was okay or anything. Which I mean, in their defense, I’ve missed a lot of dinners and they’re probably sick of it, so, looking back, I feel like even more of an asshole about this. But anyways, I wasn’t thinking about all that in the moment, y’know, so I went downstairs and was like, ‘do I matter to you guys at all?’ Which, I know—so dramatic. God. And then my mom was all like, ‘sweetie, where is this coming from,’ and I was like ‘seriously?’ and started screaming and shit, like, I just lost it, and they just sat there and just _waited_ for me to stop, and then when I was done, my dad was like, ‘are you finished?’ And then I lost it all over again and we were both yelling at each other, and he was like, ‘you’re such a disappointment, Connor’—not in those exact words, but you get it—and my mom was crying a little, and Zoe had left like right after I came in. So at least she wasn’t there to look at me like, ‘You’re ruining my life.’ So you know. Just your average Tuesday night.”

Connor’s jaw is clenched, and he’s staring into his cup like the melted remains of ice cream have wronged him somehow. Evan reaches out, touches his hand—just barely. When he looks up, Evan says, “After I fight with my mom, she likes to tell me that when I’m older, it won’t—this stuff won’t seem like such a big deal to me. Like, everything will seem a lot smaller than it is now.”

“Jesus,” Connor barks out a soft laugh. “That makes me so mad. Like just because we’re teenagers, our problems are nothing. I wanna off myself, but hey, that’s just normal teen angst stuff that I’ll get over soon, right Mom?”

They both freeze, staring at each other with wide eyes.

 _He was joking,_ Evan tells himself, almost frantically. _He was just saying things, and he probably doesn’t_ really _want to kill himself. Jared says things like that all the time! Calm down. Calm the fuck down, and don’t think about Ellison State Park, don’t think about climbing and falling, and laying on the ground wondering why you’re still ali—_

“I have anxiety!” Evan blurts over the noise in his head, arms flailing a little.

 _Why_ , his brain screams at himself, _why why why would you say that._

Connor stares at him for another second. “Uh, no offense, Evan,” he says slowly, “but no shit?”

“I mean, I have a severe anxiety disorder, asshole,” he says—snaps—without thinking, yet _again_ , and then his stomach drops because that was so rude of him, _oh my god_ , but—Connor’s laughing. Evan can feel his face turning red, and he looks down at the table in embarrassment.

“I deserved that,” Connor says. “Sorry. Fuck. I didn’t know, Evan. I’m not laughing at you, by the way, I promise.”

Evan squares his shoulders and makes himself continue, even though everything in him is telling him _not_ to, even though he’s scared Connor will laugh again. “I have a therapist,” he says. “I see him once a week.”

“That’s cool.”

“I—wait, what?”

Connor taps his plastic spoon against the table. He looks at Evan thoughtfully. “I asked my mom if I could start seeing a therapist, a while ago.”

“So you go to therapy too?” Evan asks, almost hopefully. Hopeful for Connor, because he’d like to think he’s getting help for his problems, too.

“No. She said she’d talk to my dad about it, but she never got back to me, so I guess she forgot. Or he said no.”

He looks angry about this, and Evan doesn’t want him to be, but he doesn’t know how to change the subject the way he wants to and ends up saying, “I. Um. I also have depression?”

Which, _fuck,_ now he _really_ wishes he was never born. Something about knowing he has feelings for Connor makes him have even less of a filter around him, it seems. _Why would you say that, are you_ trying _to make this even weirder and fucking awkward and uncomfortable than it already is? Do you_ want _him to think you’re a freak with no concept of what to keep your mouth shut about? He does not need to know every aspect of your stupid mentally ill life. All that’s left to blurt out is “I’m a compulsive liar too!”_

Except...it’s not weird, or awkward. And Connor doesn’t look uncomfortable. He just nods and says, “Okay,” twirling the spoon between his fingers. “Me too, I think. I mean, I don’t know exactly what I ‘have’ because I haven’t had the chance to get, like, diagnosed officially or whatever, except for ADHD. They figured that one out pretty early on.” He pauses and meets Evan’s eyes again. “Thanks for telling me.”

Evan stares at him, wide-eyed. Connor is constantly surprising him.

_I like him so much wow._

“You don’t—um. You don’t have to have a professional diagnosis to know something’s—because some people don’t have access to. Well. You know? I just feel like...you know yourself best. Sorry, does that make sense?” Evan’s voice is very small, and Connor’s face is unreadable.

The taller boy stands up after a moment, grabbing their cups and napkins from the table. “Yeah," he says, even though Evan knows it did not make much sense at all. "Let’s go to the orchard for a while. And then we can play Mario Kart or something at my house.”

 

-

 

A lot of things start to click into place. Evan thinks a lot about Connor and the things they’ve talked about.

When Connor can’t seem to sit still, Evan thinks about his ADHD. It explains the nonstop fidgeting (worse than Evan’s), and his random bursts of anger and acting out. And being so misunderstood by his parents and teachers. When Connor looks tired and the bags under his eyes seem more pronounced than usual, Evan thinks about how he said, _“Me too, I think.”_ Evan wonders if he ever feels exhausted in that awful, crushing sort of way, if he ever has days where he can’t get out of bed too.

As time goes on, the more time they spend together, and the more they open up to each other.

Evan is so...happy about his life right now.

(But deep down, he knows that the Good Feelings can’t last.

And they don’t.)

It’s a Friday night, and he’s coming home after seeing a movie with Jared—some sci-fi, action thing the other boy wanted to see. He’s in a good mood. He’s going to text Connor when he gets inside, and then maybe he’ll write another letter, or watch something on Netflix. But then he unlocks the door and walks in, and the lights are all off, which means his mom still isn’t here, and.

And the house smells strange. He tries to pinpoint what it is about it that’s making him feel so uneasy all of a sudden, and he realizes it’s not a strange smell, or a bad smell, it’s just that it doesn’t smell like his _home._ Or even _a_ home. When did this place stop smelling like home?

When did he stop considering it his home? When did it become, just, a house?

He’s collapsing onto the couch, then, with that tight feeling in his chest, and where’s his mom? When was the last time he saw her? It’s Friday night and his mom isn’t here and he has trouble remembering the last time he saw her, and he’s thinking about how unfair it all is, and trying not to cry suddenly because that’s so pathetic—what is he, five?

 _I was doing fine,_ he thinks helplessly. Angrily.

He wipes his eyes as he makes his way upstairs, stumbling a little in the dark. Then he takes his pants off on his way to bed, and chucks them somewhere across the room, for no reason other than he wants to, goddammit. When he’s under the covers, he suddenly feels so tired that he doesn’t want to look at his phone or laptop, despite the plans he made before, to talk to Connor, or write a letter. He’s _exhausted,_ down to his bones, and it sucks because he had an okay day. An okay week, even.

Nothing good lasts. Not when he’s. Well. This.

Not when he’s _him._

Evan stares up at the ceiling, tries to ignore all the fucking chatter in his head, and tries to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *evan voice* diAGNOSED OFFICIALLY OR WHATEVER
> 
> please comment, leave kudos, and follow me on my DEH sideblog @jaredklein :-)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a brief interlude from connor's point of view!! it's really really short but it was fun to write. woohooo

Connor has had a ridiculous, terrible fucking day.

And the fact that Jared Kleinman, the biggest asshole he's ever met (aside from like, himself) is yelling his name across the hallway? Makes him want to die about ten times more than he already does.

"Hey Connor," said asshole calls out again. Connor draws his shoulders together and breathes sharply through his nose. _Don't get fucking mad,_ he tells himself. But then Kleinman is right next to him, and it's no use. He's filled with fury just having to see that stupid face in his peripheral vision. The fuck does he _want?_

Connor decides that if Kleinman calls him a freak again, then he'll let himself punch the guy in the face. Just fucking deck him, and worry about the consequences later.

Maybe he'll get suspended. He's been suspended before—back in sophomore year, for getting caught smoking behind the school. Even though he'd been grounded, he honestly loved it, getting to stay home for a week. He read the entirety of Les Mis during the first two days, and then just laid around in bed for the rest of it. He also made a lot of cringe-worthy, emo art.

He's been super fucking depressed lately, and he could use a break from school. Having his dad yell at him for getting in a fight is marginally better than having his dad yell at him for being a useless, mentally ill piece of shit. So punching Kleinman seems like a good way to go.

(He's not sure why he's even contemplating this shit. The whole world knows he'll just end up skipping sooner or later anyway.)

With his mind made up, Connor shuts his locker and turns to face him. "What?" he says through gritted teeth.

Kleinman's shit-eating grin falters. Something about this makes Connor's grip on his bag loosen, just a little bit, involuntarily. "Good to see you too," Kleinman says dryly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dumb salmon-colored shorts. His shirt says "lol ur not zayn malik"

Connor hates him so much.

"What do you fucking want?"

Kleinman's smile returns, and he puts one hand on his chest in a mock-offended gesture. "Can I not just have a conversation with my bro's bro?"

Connor makes a face because of the reminder that this guy is friends with Evan, and also because who the hell _talks_ like that? "Right," he deadpans, and then takes two slow steps backward, ready to go fucking home already. "Bye."

Kleinman's shoulders slump. "Okay, listen," he says with a sigh and an eye roll, and that's when Connor remembers how Evan told him that Jared was planning on apologizing, and—oh. That's why he's here. The realization makes Connor feel even more annoyed but also weirdly giddy. He crosses his arms and keeps his expression carefully blank as Jared raises his shoulders and then drops them. "Sorry for what I said to you the first day."

"What did you say to me the first day?" Connor says, thoroughly unimpressed.

Jared's face is steadily turning red. "Fuck this," he hisses under his breath, ducking his head, and then when he looks back up, he says, "You know what I'm talking about."

"Do I?" Connor asks, voice dripping with sarcasm as he tilts his head.

"You're such an asshole."

"Uh, insulting me isn't really helping your case here, fuckface."

"Right back at you, dickwad."

Connor narrows his eyes at him. He guesses Kleinman is bitter that he's been hanging out with Evan lately, which makes sense because Connor is, well, Connor—but still. " _I'm_ not the one apologizing for anything, so." Then he corrects himself and adds, "Or trying to apologize, and failing miserably."

Kleinman looks like he wants to strangle him. Relatable. "I'm _sorry,_ dude," he says. Connor doesn't really believe him. "Are we good or not?"

Connor stares at him for a long moment. He's tired, and irritated, and Evan is probably waiting for him in the parking lot, because Connor said he'd give him a ride, _fuck._ "Yeah, sure, whatever," he says, rolling his eyes. He's itching to get out of here, and also he figures that if he's going to be hanging out with Evan more—which he really, really wants—then he should probably at least _try_ to give this guy a chance. No matter how fucking insufferable he seems.

 _God fucking dammit._ The things he's ready to do for Evan.

Jared nods and adjusts his glasses, smile still plastered on his annoying fucking face. "Great." He makes finger guns at Connor. "See you, loser."

And then he walks away, and Connor stands in front of the lockers for a few seconds staring after him in disbelief.

 _What a dick,_ he thinks for the hundredth time, and then he shakes himself and heads for the parking lot, where Evan is, of course, waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for making jared seem like such an asshole but 1) this is connor's perspective so. and 2) he IS an asshole a lot of the time tbh. but he gets better later on, so pls bear with me
> 
> thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything kind of goes to shit.

On Monday, when Evan gets home from school—Connor gives him a ride, and fist bumps him somewhat awkwardly as he gets out of the car—his mom is in the kitchen, putting groceries away.

“Hey, sweetie,” she says, cheerful as ever. Evan just stares, gripping the straps of his backpack, because what is she doing home on a Monday? How did she have time to go _grocery shopping_ on a Monday? How did she get the day off from work?

“Hey,” he replies uneasily. “What, um. What’s all this?”

She gives him a weird look, putting a box of something in the freezer. “Groceries, Evan. Jeez, has it really been that long since we had real food?” She laughs.

He laughs back. It’s awkward, stilted.

“I got those Gardein veggie burgers I know you like,” she says with a grin.

“Mom,” he says, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Those are so expensive, and there’s only like five in a bag—”

“Evan, it’s _okay._ Spending a little more on something you like to eat is not going to hurt us.”

“Okay,” he says, voice small. He still feels guilty.

“I bought a lot of good stuff, okay? So no more ramen noodles and mac and cheese.”

“Okay.”

“Oh! _And,_ ” She spins around, dumping the contents of one of the bags on the counter. She holds up a bottle of vitamins triumphantly. Evan’s stomach just _drops._

Sophomore year, she used to get vitamins and supplements for him, and reminded him every day to take them with his meds. _“You’re not eating right,”_ she said. _“You’re a growing boy, Evan, your body needs this stuff.”_ He tried taking them, the first few times, he honestly did, but there was always some problem—the capsule was too big, and made him feel like he was choking when he swallowed it, or it smelled so bad it made him gag, or he felt like he didn’t deserve to be healthy. So he lied and told her he was taking them, even though he was not. Every morning, he’d take a capsule from each of the bottles, and then he wrapped them up in a paper towel and put them in the trash. And each time, he felt so incredibly disgusted with himself and _guilty,_ because his mom spent money on those and there he was, lying and throwing them away.

“We’re both gonna start taking these again,” his mom is saying. “I think they really helped you, before! You didn’t look so tired all the time.”

 _That would be because I wasn’t so debilitatingly depressed, back then,_ he thinks. _Not because I was taking multivitamins every day. (Which I wasn’t even doing. I lied I lied I lied.)_

She’s still talking. “I got B3, Iron, even this one called ‘Supreme Stress’?” She laughs again, glancing over at him. “We could definitely use it, huh?”

He cracks a small smile. ”Yeah.”

She sets the bottles down and looks at him, really looks at him. Like she’s searching for something in his face. Like she’s trying to figure something out. “How’s school going?” She asks, and her voice is softer now.

“Um, good, fine,” he says. The standard reply. He suddenly can’t stand being in the same room as her. “I actually—I have a lot of homework, so.” He gestures behind him, in the vague direction of the stairs.

“Oh, okay,” she says, smile faltering. “I’m gonna make pasta for dinner, before I leave for class. I’ll leave it on the stove.”

“Okay,” he says, already turning to walk out of the kitchen.

 

-

 

It’s a Thursday, and Evan’s therapy appointment for after school has been canceled, and Connor is absent again.

It’s not a big deal this time, because he texts Evan during first period. The message reads: **hey not gonna be at school today. dont worry about me, its not like last time. just feel sick and need to sleep all day**

Evan sends back: **_OK, thanks for letting me know :-) feel better_ **

It’s a boring day, with not much going on in any of his classes, and he spends most of his time going through social media. He has some Snapchats from Jared—the first is a close up of his face, zoomed in, with “STREAKS” in rainbow letters going across his forehead, and the second is pretty much the same, except it says “evan do u want 2 hear an AWESOME frankenstein joke.”

Evan replies with a photo of his desk, captioning it, “always” and then Jared sends a slightly blurry selfie, in which he’s smiling widely, and it says, “why was frankenstein paid so much to race cars?...because he was always the victor”

Evan makes an unimpressed look for the quick selfie he sends back.

“ok, who’s frankenstein’s favorite character from cars?”

“?”

“lightning mcqueen”

Evan says, “I hate you”

“kachow,” Jared replies about ten minutes after that. It’s another selfie, and he used the weird filter that makes your eyes too big and far apart and your mouth very small. Evan suppresses a laugh when he opens it.

At lunch, he sits under the tree by himself and eats a bag of pretzels while doing some homework. So it’s a Thursday, and therapy has been canceled, and Connor’s not here, but it’s okay. His day is going fine for the most part.

He doesn’t notice Zoe approaching, doesn’t know she’s there until she sits down next to him and says, “Hey.”

“H-Hey,” he says, hesitantly. “What’s up?”

She shrugs one shoulder and smiles that sweet smile. “Not much. I don’t really feel like being in the cafeteria today, and the band room was locked, so.”

“Oh,” he says, because of course she wouldn’t be here with him if she didn’t have to be. They’re not...friends. So there’s that.

He doesn’t know why he’s sad about this. He’s friends with Connor, and Jared, too, so why can’t he just be grateful for what he has?

She interprets his tone the wrong way. “I won’t bother you, promise. Just go back to whatever you’re doing! It’ll be like I’m not even here.”

 _As if it could ever be like that,_ Evan thinks, somewhere in the back of his mind. Her presence is hard to ignore. He learned this a long time ago. “Oh, no, that’s not what I was—that’s not what I meant.”

She just smiles at him again, and opens her lunchbox. It’s the hard, metal kind, with a clasp, and it has Captain America on it. The paint is chipped in places like she’s had it for a while.

“That’s cool,” he tells her as he puts his homework in his backpack. He gestures towards the lunchbox when she looks up, and he is _so awkward,_ but she doesn’t seem to care.

“Thanks,” she says. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she adds, “I have a huge thing for Chris Evans. He’s so beefy.”

Evan laughs with her. Then she’s pulling out a dark purple sharpie and asking to sign his cast. She has to write small, on the other side (because of Connor’s name taking up most of it). Then she caps the marker, nods once, satisfied, and goes back to her lunch.

After a minute, she seems to notice that he’s still focused on the lunch box, and tilts her head at him.

“It was Connor’s? My mom got it for him, and got me a Spiderman one, but—he liked Spiderman better, so we switched.”

“That’s nice,” Evan says, and means it. He thinks about the framed photos of Zoe and Connor when they were kids, and remembers the comics on Connor’s bookshelf and the stickers on the bookcase. “I think he told me about that.”

“He—he did?” She’s looking up from a Ziploc bag of grapes, with something like alarm on her face.

“Not the—um. Just the part about him liking Spiderman.” (It’s a lie. A tiny one, but still. Connor never told him this specifically. Evan just assumed.)

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he says weakly.

“Do you know?” Zoe asks suddenly. Then she makes a face. “I mean, does he—does he talk to you about me? About how—”

“Um,” Evan says. He locks his fingers together, cracks his knuckles uncomfortably.

“It’s so weird to me that you guys are friends,” she’s continuing. She pops another grape into her mouth, gazing somewhere behind the tree.

A few moments pass, and Evan waits, thinking she has more to say, but she doesn’t. So he tells her, “He does, sometimes. Mostly he says he’s, um, a dick to you. Stuff like that.”

He doesn’t feel good about himself after saying this. It feels a little bit like he’s betrayed Connor’s trust, or something.

“Understatement of the fucking century,” she mutters, but there’s not much heat behind the words. Then she meets Evan’s eyes, looking slightly guilty. “You probably think I’m, like, the worst sister ever.”

“Not—not at all?” Evan is shaking his head profusely. His tone makes her sit up, squaring her shoulders like she’s getting ready for a fight.

“You don’t—you don’t know him.”

Evan chooses to ignore this, tries not to let those words hurt. He _does_ know Connor. They’re friends. But he knows his friend, Connor, is not the same as the Connor that Zoe knows, the one Zoe has lived with for sixteen years. The Connor who’s screamed at Zoe, saying he’s going to kill her, is not the same as the Connor who drives him places and shows him pictures of trees.

Except—that’s stupid, they _are_ the same person. He has got to stop separating the different experiences into two separate people in his head. Good Connor and Bad Connor. That’s not how it works. There is only one Connor, and Evan does know him, and just because he’s kind to Evan doesn’t erase the things he’s done, or does. Connor has said so himself.

People are multifaceted. People can be more than one thing at once.

“Really, I don’t think that about you.” Evan swallows. “I know that—stuff like this isn’t black and white. It’s complicated.”

Her shoulders go down again. “For what it’s worth,” she says quietly, looking down at her hands, “I’m glad he—that he’s friends with you. I think you’re good for him. Is that weird to say?”

He laughs a little, uncomfortable. “Kind of?”

“I just mean, he’s starting to...I don’t know. He’s changing. I used to think that wasn’t possible, but.”

“I don’t think that’s, like, because of me—”

“Well, you start hanging out with him, and then suddenly he’s—” She cuts herself off with a huff. “Look, I’m not saying you’re like, fixing him, or some stupid shit like that. I just think it’s weird. In a good way. But don’t get me wrong, I still hate him. And he’s still the biggest asshole on the planet.” A pause. “Okay?

“Okay,” Evan says, because what else do you say to something that?

She laughs, then, a sudden, beautiful thing that reminds him of Connor a little bit, and her eyes are bright. “Good talk, Evan.”

“Good talk,” he echoes, and she goes back to her lunch. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail. Evan watches the way the strands of hair that have escaped from it move in the slight autumn breeze, framing her face. There’s something different between them, now. Evan remembers what it was like to be twelve years old and notice everything about this girl, to never be able to talk to her even though he wanted to more than anything. And Evan doesn’t know how to deal with it, so he gets stupid. He gets stupid, and he blurts out, “Do you remember me? From middle school?”

She looks thoughtful. “A little. Were you in my math class? I was in sixth, but I was taking—”

He feels—hysterical, almost. He tugs hard at the bottom of his shirt and gestures awkwardly with his other hand. “Yes! You were ahead, you took seventh-grade math. And—and we had choir together, too.”

Zoe grins. “You were the best kid in class, but you were always so scared all the time! I remember now, this one time Mrs. Martinez pressured you to sing by yourself in front of everyone, and you got through like one verse of Don’t Stop Believing and then started crying! You never had to do a solo again.”

The memory should embarrass him, he knows—he was way too old to be crying like that in eighth grade, and everyone thought he was such a loser—but Zoe recalls the story without any judgement, and he doesn’t like her that way anymore, and he has Feelings for her brother now, which is a whole other can of worms, but he wants to confess, he has to say—

“I had—the biggest crush on you.” It rushes out of him, spills like vomit, kind of, and it’s the wrong thing to say, it feels so wrong as soon as he says it, but he can’t take it back.

The air between them feels weird and full of tension, all of a sudden. “Really?”

His heart is racing, and his hands are sweaty, and he wants to take it back but he _can’t_ , and then he makes it _worse_ somehow— “Yeah, I—you were the—the coolest. Twelve year old me wanted to be friends with you so bad.”

And then Zoe’s mouth twists in a very Not Good way. “That’s—” Her brow furrows. “Why are you—why are you telling me this?”

“I—” The air feels like it’s thinning. “I don’t—I don’t know, I’m sorry, I just—”

“I mean,” she’s laughing a little again, but it’s not a happy sound, like before. It reminds him of his mom—when she’s mad at him, she laughs just like that. It makes his chest tighten. “I—what do you want me to say to that?”

Evan locks his fingers together again and squeezes his hands tightly, wishing this was a dream, wishing he didn’t exist. “I don’t know, I’m sorry—”

She throws the remnants of her lunch into her Captain America lunch box, and then shoves that into her backpack. It rattles inside as she stands up abruptly. “I’m gonna go. I’m sorry.” She looks so uncomfortable. “I’ll—see you, Evan.”

And then she’s gone, and he has her name on his cast but now things are bad and weird because he went and fucked it all up, and he hates himself with an entirely new kind of passion.

 

-

 

The next morning, he oversleeps a little. It’s 6:37 when he wakes up.

He swears loudly as he hops around his room, throwing on whatever clothes he can find, takes his meds, and practically falls down the stairs, then has to run back up immediately because he forgot his backpack, and by the time he’s completely ready and out the door, it’s 6:47. Which means he is exactly five minutes late. Jared likes to leave by 6:42. Jared has been sitting in his car for _five minutes_ _,_ waiting for him, and that thought makes him want to throw up.

Sweaty, red-faced, he’s apologizing before he’s even inside the car, “I’m so sorry, Jared, I know you like to leave by a certain time and I—it won’t—it won’t happen again—”

“Chill,” Jared says without looking at him. Evan tries to obey, but then—is Jared purposefully avoiding meeting his eyes? _Is his driving less careful than usual today, or am I just overanalyzing it, and fucking things up like I always fuck things up, like I fucked things up with Zoe?_

Jared is listening to some old Kesha song. They are stuck in traffic. It’s 6:54.

The drive-thrus nearby are full from all the students on their way to school and parents on their way to work, wanting to grab a quick bite, and so their usual route to school is blocked by lines of cars trying to turn into the shopping center with the McDonald’s and Starbucks and Chick-fil-A. Jared says, “Are you motherfucking kidding me,” and tries going a different way. Evan grips the edges of his seat and bites his tongue to keep from apologizing again, because he knows that’ll only put Jared in a worse mood. He hates it when Evan makes him feel bad, like when he stutters through his sentences or says sorry too much—he said something one time about how it wasn’t fair of Evan to, like, use his anxiety against him. Which, Evan doesn’t fucking _know_ what that even means, and thought it was really mean of Jared to say at the time, but he doesn’t want to piss him off even more, so he just bites his tongue, and then when that starts to hurt, he chews on the inside of his cheek. It takes them six more minutes to get to school.

And the parking lot is full, because now it’s 7:01—nope, 7:02. Evan watches time on the clock above the radio change, heart hammering in his chest.

Jared swears some more because the parking lot is so full that he has to reverse into his spot, because the car behind it is there so he can’t pull all the way through, like he usually can when they get here before everyone else. Because they’re late.

“Fucking fuck shit fuck,” Jared mutters as he goes around. It’s a tight fit, and Evan stays silent, unable to do anything but watch the events unfold in front of him.

Here’s what happens: Jared reverses into his spot. He does it painfully slowly. Then, when he should stop, he doesn’t. He keeps going.

And bumps into the car behind them.

There are a few seconds where they just sit there in horror, and then Jared pulls forward about a foot, jerkily, and looks at Evan for the first time all morning. “Did I hit them?” He asks, voice unnaturally high.

“I don’t—I don’t know—I think you—I—”

“Fuck,” Jared repeats over and over, resting his head on the wheel, and Evan thinks _this wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t overslept five minutes and made us late,_ and then he’s hyperventilating in the car at 7:05 in the morning.

“Why are you freaking out?” Jared yells hysterically. “Fuck, calm down, _I’m_ the one who just _hit the fucking car—”_

“I don’t—” Evan wheezes. “Please don’t yell at me I can’t control—it, I’m sorry—”

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me,” Jared says again, and then he’s reaching into the backseat. “Do you have a Xanax on you?”

“I already—took one this morning—”

“I meant for _me_ , asshole,” and then he’s shoving a crumpled, brown paper bag into Evan’s hands. “Fucking—here.”

So Evan breathes into it, even though he read something one time about how most studies advise _against_ paper bags to treat hyperventilation, and Jared doesn’t comment on his loud, gasping breaths. A minute passes. Evan’s hands are shaking.

“If you’re chill now,” Jared says with an edge to his voice, his head on the steering wheel again. “Come outside with me and help assess the damage.”

They get out of the car, and Jared stands further away, too scared to look. Evan exhales shakily, staring at a white mark on the other car’s bumper, not even a dent, and then tells him, “It’s—it’s just a scratch, Jared.”

“You better not be fucking with me,” Jared mutters. He finally takes a look at it, blinking rapidly behind his glasses, and then he crouches down on the pavement with his head in his hands and laughs. It’s an unrestrained, sort of choked sound. Evan stands there, bewildered, and unsure of what to do. He’s about to maybe pat Jared on the back or do something equally stupid, when the other boy gets up.

He gets their backpacks out of the car.

And then they go inside.

“This never happened, okay?” Jared says to him at his locker, and before Evan can respond, he’s storming off.

Evan is tense for hours. He can’t focus on anything, and his neck hurts.

In third period, he gets two texts in a row that make his stomach sink.

**hey i dont think i can give u rides anymore dude. i feel like im always a few min late when i have to pick u up**

**this morning rly freaked me out and i dont want something like that to happen again**

Evan can’t breathe all over again, and he doesn’t reply until lunch, sitting under the tree, hands trembling.

**_OK I understand and I’m really sorry for makingn us late_ **

Connor is looking at him with worry when he sits down. “Dude, you’re bleeding.”

Evan tastes it, then—coppery and wrong. He’s been chewing on his lip all day, and now it’s going to be sensitive and gross and it’ll scab over and he’ll have to keep resisting the urge to pick at it and make it bleed all over again. “Fuck,” he says out loud, reaching around in his lunch bag for a napkin. He presses it to his mouth, and when he pulls it away, it’s stained red.

Connor raises his eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

“I’m—” Evan pauses. Folds the napkin in half, then wipes his lip again. It stings. “Um. I’m having a, um, not so good day.”

Connor folds one long, skinny leg underneath himself, and pulls up the other to rest his chin on his knee. He doesn’t have anything for lunch with him today, and Evan thinks about offering him some of his chips, but can’t bring himself to move.

It just...doesn’t make _sense._ Evan is always on time when Jared picks him up, and then the _one_ day he’s late by a few minutes, this happens, and Jared—Evan knows that it wouldn’t have happened if he was on time, but... _But like, if Jared knew that he’s so bad at reversing, he could have just found another parking spot for the day, right?_

It feels kind of like Jared is blaming _everything_ on him, instead of on his own inability to park. And Evan thought they were friends again. _God, you’re so stupid._

“You’re—” Connor moves closer all of a sudden, looking extremely concerned now. “Shit, Evan, what _happened?_ ”

Evan’s vision is kind of blurry, he realizes. _Oh. You’re fucking crying. Of course._ He laughs a little, infuriated with himself and uncomfortable about crying in front of Connor, and wipes the tears away with his sleeve. At least he isn’t having another panic attack. “Sorry. I’m just—it’s Jared. He’s being...I don’t know.”

“Well that’s fucking annoying,” Connor says. “Especially because I accepted his stupid apology the other day, and now he’s being a dick again, I guess.”

Evan sniffles quietly. “He apologized to you?”

“Yeah. Like you said he would. He came up to my locker on Monday and said some bullshit about—I don’t even know. But he didn’t really seem like he actually cared, so? It was just dumb. And weird.” Connor blows a strand of hair away from his face. “I don’t know why I told him it was fine.”

“That...sounds like him.” He thinks about the way Jared acted that day he confronted Evan about hanging out with Connor, and the way he sometimes buys Evan food and says, _“you owe me,_ ” but when Evan tries to pay him back, he acts insulted and won’t take the money. He thinks about how this morning he was an asshole about Evan having a panic attack, then gave him paper bag and sort of waited for him to calm down before going into Asshole Mode again. He thinks about the little moments where Jared’s insecurity shows through the facade he’s put up. “I wish he wasn’t so _confusing_ ,” Evan sighs. “Like, why does he always act like he doesn’t give a shit about anything? And then he says things that make me think that maybe—I don’t know!”

“It’s fucked up,” Connor says, and exhales hard through his nose. “Either he’s your friend or he isn’t.”

“I-I don’t know,” Evan starts.

“Not—” He makes a frustrated sort of sound. “You shouldn’t have to be the one trying to figure it out. I’m saying he needs to be, like, straight up with you instead of fucking with your emotions. Y’know?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“I’m gonna fight him,” Connor lets him know. He’s taking out his sketchbook, and his eyes are wide and serious. “Just say the word and I’ll do it, I swear.”

Evan laughs and wipes at his eyes again.

So yeah, now things weird and bad with Jared, as well as with Zoe. Zoe, who was so repulsed by the thought of him in middle school wanting to be friends with her.

But at least he has Connor.

(He tries not to think about how he’ll probably, inevitably, mess that up soon, too.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm!!! sorry
> 
> also thnx to the people who have sent me stuff about this fic on my main blog! ur the sweetest and I love u. if anyone wants to send me more asks, pls send em to my side blog @jaredklein!! I will cry happily if u do because stuff like that makes my day
> 
> comment, leave kudos, etc
> 
> ok that's all! see u all in a few days for another chapter :,,)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner at the Hansen household.

Evan’s mom doesn’t end up getting a night off until the end of October. They’ve scheduled dinner for a Friday. He tells Connor to come over, and they make plans to maybe watch Halloween movies afterwards.

“What toppings does he like?” Evan’s mom asks, phone in hand, practically buzzing with excitement.

“Um, I don’t—I don’t really know?” Evan thinks about things he’s seen Connor eat— _does he like olives? Bell peppers? Pepperoni? Does he even eat meat? Yeah, Cynthia has been vegan for a while, but that doesn’t necessarily mean the whole family sticks with it, right?_ —but he can’t come up with anything for sure. “Just get cheese.”

“Can’t go wrong with cheese,” she agrees. After she’s placed the order, she says, “I feel bad that I didn’t have time to, like, actually cook anything for the first time you—for you and your friend.”

He suppresses a laugh at her slip up. _For the first time you have a friend over other than Jared,_ she was probably going to say. “It’s fine. He—His mom is really into healthy food and home-cooked meals and stuff, so. They don’t get to eat pizza often.”

This makes her smile, but it’s in a weird, sad sort of way. “Wonder what that’s like, huh?” She jokes.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, then.

**uh i’m outside**

**evan your doorbell is broken**

**am i supposed to?? knock???**

Something in Evan’s chest flutters at the thought of Connor standing out on the porch, worrying about something as simple as whether to knock on the door or not.

“He’s here,” he lets his mom know, and goes to open the door. Connor looks up from his phone and smiles at him. His hair is pulled back in a loose bun, and he’s wearing a black knit sweater with sleeves that hide his hands, and Evan wonders where the heck he finds clothes with sleeves that are somehow too long for those _long_ limbs.

He looks...different, and Evan realizes, in amazement, that it’s because he’s _trying_. He wants to make a good impression. Or something.

Evan’s chest flutters again. “You have ears,” he says, smiling nervously.

Connor snorts, reaching up to tug at one earlobe. “Yeah?”

“I just mean—they’re always hidden. By your hair.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess you’re right.” He makes a face, then does that thing where he leans forward on his tiptoes, and then rocks back slightly.

“Um! Come in!” Evan opens the door wider, and Connor starts walking towards the kitchen before he stops abruptly, like he’s remembered that Evan’s mom is home and probably in there, and he wants Evan to lead the way.

It’s all so _cute._

Evan leads him into the kitchen, where his mom stands in front of the table, waiting with a huge smile on her face. “Mom, this is—Connor.”

“It’s so nice to meet you.” Her voice is definitely way too high, and Evan makes a face at her from slightly behind Connor, like, _you’re being way too over the top please don’t embarrass me,_ and she makes eye contact with him and laughs.

“It’s nice to meet you, too, um, Ms. Hansen,” Connor says, giving a tight sort of smile. His hands are clasped in front of him, and he’s picking at his nail polish.

“Call me Heidi, I’m not _that_ old.” She laughs again. Then, looking between the two of them, says, “Jeez, you both look so nervous. Relax a little! Come help me out with setting the table.”

Connor and Evan glance and each other as she goes to get plates, and some of the tension seems to leave the taller boy’s shoulders. “Sorry,” Evan whispers to him.

“Don’t be. She’s awesome,” Connor says as he takes the plates and puts them down on the table. Evan gets some napkins, and then the table is set, because they’re going to eat pizza, so it’s not like they need silverware.

Evan makes a very embarrassing sputtering sound. “She’s, like, so dorky,” he says, laughing nervously.

“Awesome,” Connor repeats seriously.

“Just—I’m just warning you, I know she can be a lot, so—”

“Have you _met_ my mom?”

“I—Okay. You got me.”

“So how did you guys become friends? I don’t think Evan ever got to tell me!” She comes back over to them, leaning against the kitchen table.

Evan recalls that day in the hallway when he apologized for Jared’s behavior and Connor replied with a _“Fuck off.”_ How _did_ they become friends?

Connor somehow knows exactly what to tell her. “Uh, it was—we’re in the same Econ class, and I signed his cast, and then Evan asked if I wanted to hang out sometime.”

She looks over at Evan, eyes shining. “You did?”

Evan nods quickly, and then there’s a loud knocking at the door.

“That should be the pizza!” She grabs a twenty dollar bill off the counter and leaves the room. Connor picks at his nail polish some more. There’s barely any of it left, and Evan can see how pale his nails are. It’s a little strange.

She returns with the huge pizza, and they sit and talk some more about Connor and what he’s into, and eventually his mom is bonding with Connor over some old band from the early 90s that Connor likes—”I used to play songs by them all the time when you were really little, Evan, remember? One of them, it went like...” And then she’s humming something and strumming an imaginary guitar, and Evan smiles.

His brain is a shitty place to be, but it’s been even worse ever since that day he got home after seeing that movie with Jared, and then on top of that, he went and fucked things up with Zoe and Jared, who are both now avoiding him. But.

But Connor is sitting next to him at their tiny kitchen table, laughing at some dumb joke his mom just told, and he’s left pizza crusts on his plate, and every now and then he’ll playfully kick Evan’s leg under the table.

So yeah, Evan’s brain is awful, and loud, and out to get him, but for tonight, he thinks he can try to quiet the noises a little bit. He’s going to finish having dinner with his mom, and a boy he likes—a boy who is his _friend—_ and then they’re going to watch some Halloween movies.

Afterward, Connor awkwardly offers to help do the dishes, but Evan’s mom waves him off, saying, “These can wait. Let’s go pick out a movie!”

They head into the living room, and Evan hands Connor the remote, since he’s the guest and it’s probably the nice thing to let him choose. Except Connor’s idea of Halloween movies are not the same as Evan’s. He goes through the horror section on Netflix and picks out the worst, creepiest sort of thing, that Evan would never watch, because he already has regular nightmares and most nights he goes to bed in this dark, empty house that isn’t really his home, so Actual Horror Movies are definitely not a good thing for him to be watching. He was thinking they would watch, like, Coraline, or something. (And even _that_ movie freaks him out.)

His mom makes popcorn for them to eat, and there’s soda leftover in the liter bottle from dinner, so they have that, too. She sits through about half of the movie before she starts yawning, and then gets up. “Don’t stay up too late, guys.” She says, and ruffles Evan’s hair as she walks past.

Half an hour later, the movie is almost over, and Evan is fully freaking out. He absolutely hates scary things, and he should have said something before they pressed play, or he should have closed his eyes or something during the worst scenes. But it’s too late now. He’s going to have nightmares tonight, and for the next week, and he’ll try to stay up to avoid them, and end up sleep deprived and cranky. All because he watched a stupid movie he knew he couldn’t handle.

Connor is engrossed in it, oblivious to Evan’s escalating panic. He’s reaching into the bowl of popcorn every so often, without taking his eyes off the screen, and Evan watches him chew out of the corner of his eye and works on calming down.

When the credits roll, Connor stands up and stretches. He turns to Evan, backlit by the TV, and says, “I should probably, uh, head home.”

Evan blinks. He pulls out his phone to look at the time: 11:24. It’s not _that_ late, and they don’t have a curfew, but Cynthia gets worried when Connor is out for a long time. Still...part of Evan wants him to stay a little longer. So he says, “Really?”

Something in Connor’s face softens a little, and then he looks unsure. “I mean…”

“Spend the night,” Evan says, grimacing when his voice cracks a little. “If you want? We can watch something else. Not, um—not another creepy movie, though, if that’s okay. Sorry.”

Connor laughs. He puts the mostly empty popcorn bowl on the coffee table and sits back down next to Evan, closer this time. “Dude, it’s _your_ house. Your TV.”

Evan feels his face warm. “You should—um. Let your parents know you’re staying over?”

Connor pulls his phone out with a sigh. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, typing out a text message with quick fingers.

“Um. Parks and Rec, or The Office?”

  


-

  


Evan wakes up to a familiar hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. “Evan,” his mother says quietly. She’s wearing her pink scrubs, with a hoodie on top. “Sweetie, you guys fell asleep here last night.”

Evan looks around blearily, still not fully awake. It’s morning, but still kind of dark outside the living room windows, and the TV screen is black. He can’t remember turning it off last night, and wonders if maybe Connor did, or if they left it on, and episode after episode of Parks and Recreation kept playing until long after they were asleep, until Netflix asked, _“Are you still watching?”_

Connor is sleeping next to him on the couch, sort of slumped over.

“So last night was fun, huh? We should do stuff like that more often.”

Evan fidgets with the hem of his shirt—which is slightly wrinkled from sleeping in it. “Yeah.”

There’s an unhappy twist to her mouth, and he can’t look at that, so he looks over at Connor. His mouth is parted slightly, and his face is smushed into the cushion, but he looks peaceful.

“Alright,” she says. “I’m going now.”

She waits, like she’s expecting something. Like she wants something from him. “Okay,” he says, eyes still on Connor.

A sigh. “You okay on refills?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“You too,” he mumbles, and then she’s leaving, and the Bad Feelings come rushing back, washing over him like a strong wave of water.

He gets up. Puts the empty popcorn bowl in the kitchen sink, then does the dishes from last night. Wonders what he can offer Connor for breakfast when he wakes up. There’s a pack of Eggo waffles in the freezer, but they’re definitely expired, and the fridge is also devoid of any kind of breakfast foods. So that leaves a box of slightly stale, off-brand cereal.

Which they don’t have any milk for.

Evan leaves the kitchen, frustrated. Connor is awake now. He hasn’t moved, and his cheek is still pressed into the couch cushion, but he has his phone in one hand and he’s blinking sleepily at it. It looks like he’s on Instagram.

“H-Hey.”

He turns his head, just barely, to look at Evan. “Good morning, sunshine,” he says dryly, dropping his phone in his lap, and a small smile spreads across Evan’s face.

“Not a morning person,” Evan notes, sitting down next to him. He pulls his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs, and Connor sits up a little.

“Neither are you, really,” Connor says pointedly. “You look like crap. Also, you have a serious case of bedhead going on.”

Evan’s hand flies up to his hair. “Wow, thanks.”

“It’s cute,” Connor says, and then he unlocks his phone to look at his Instagram feed again, and Evan thinks, _What the hell???_

He chooses to ignore this comment for the time being. “Um, we don’t really have anything...edible, for breakfast. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. I usually don’t eat breakfast, so.”

“Oh, cool, me neither,” Evan says, even though that’s only half-true—he usually forces himself to eat at least a granola bar or something. “Do you want to watch some more TV before you have to go?”

Connor puts his phone to the side. “Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love me some soft connor
> 
> thanks for reading!! follow me on tumblr @jaredklein and please comment (your thoughts, feelings, favorite parts, constructive criticism, anything!) because it motivates me to post more often + write new chapters :-)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: cringe-worthy confrontations, discussion of drugs n stuff, and just bad decisions in general on connor's end

Connor gets high. A lot.

So much that it’s starting to get on Evan’s nerves. He shouldn’t care what Connor does in his free time, he _knows_ , but—sometimes Connor forgets that they have plans because of it, or he blows Evan off in _favor_ of it, and it makes Evan feel kind of stupid. And mad. And then he starts to panic because what if he’s putting Connor up on a pedestal or something now that he’s developed a crush on him, and that’s why he’s annoyed all of a sudden that Connor does drugs? He doesn’t want to...make himself believe Connor is something he’s not, and then get let down, especially because he _knows_ Connor smokes weed, he’s known since the beginning of their friendship. It didn’t bother him before.

He tells Dr. Sherman all of this at their next session.

“I don’t think you’re idolizing him. Though it _is_ very important, and smart of you, to remind yourself to be careful about that. Especially since you’ve mentioned previously that it’s been hard for you to deal with...both the good and bad of Connor.”

“Not hard to deal with,” Evan says, trying not to be frustrated. “I was just separating him into, like, two different people in my head, because he’s so different with me than he is with his family and other people. But I know that he’s...well. He’s just. There are different sides to everyone. I don’t know. It’s—hard to put this into words.”

“I think I understand what you mean,” Dr. Sherman says, smiling in that weird way that therapists do. “It’s okay for you to be annoyed with him about this, Evan. After all, you’re friends, and his habits affect you, too—even if it seems like it shouldn’t be a big deal to you.”

After Evan’s feelings are done being validated, Dr. Sherman suggests that he talk to Connor about it.

And Evan’s starting to think about maybe doing that. He’ll have to brainstorm what he’s going to say and how he’s going to say it. Maybe he’ll write it down and give it to Connor to read. Or send him a concise, well-reasoned text.

But none of that happens, because one morning, when Connor comes to school with red eyes and Zoe trailing behind him looking upset, Evan just...snaps.

Evan watches as Zoe storms away in the direction of her first period. Connor leans against the locker next to Evan’s and says, “Hey,” smiling way too easily at him.

“ _Hey,”_ Evan says. He’s trying very hard to keep himself from saying something that could make Connor angry, but his tone lets the other teen know something is up anyway.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Evan says, voice high, shutting his locker with a little more force than necessary.

Connor’s eyebrows go up. His hair looks so soft today, and Evan thinks fleetingly about what it would be like to run his fingers through it—but he shoves that thought away, dammit, he’s _mad_ at Connor, so can his brain not bring his stupid crush into this right now?

“Just—” Evan says, tugging hard on the straps of his backpack. He looks right at Connor. It’s easier to do when Connor’s high. Much less intimidating. “You’re doing this before school now?”

Connor furrows his eyebrows and blinks a few times like he’s trying to focus. “I’ve done it before, you probably just never noticed. Actually, we didn’t even know each other back then. So you definitely didn’t notice.” He pauses. “I think I was high on the first day. When I yelled at you.”

Evan’s chest still feels uncomfortably tight, and he clenches his fists. “What was up with Zoe?”

Connor’s shoulders slump, and that says a lot.

“Right,” Evan says. “Can—let’s talk about this later? I’m going to be late.”

He leaves before Connor can respond, taking off in the opposite direction. He makes it to first right when the bell rings, and spends half the day thinking about their conversation. That was not how it was supposed to go. Before, he thought it would be okay to bring up, but now that he’s done so in the worst way possible, and left without even getting to properly talk about it, he has so many regrets. _Why did you ever think that was a good idea? What if you were too judgy and now he thinks you’re a giant asshole, why do you literally have no filter, it’s none of your business anyway, god he probably hates you, keep your fucking mouth shut next time—if there even_ is _a next time, because he probably hates you!!_

The bell rings for lunch as Evan gets four texts in a row from Connor:

**went home early**

**sorry about before. i know i fucked up**

**please dont talk to zoe about it or something**

**i’ll try to come over later**

Evan sighs at the screen. He feels bad thinking about what might be going through Connor’s head right now. This whole time Evan’s been thinking _what if he hates me_ —but didn’t think that Connor could be thinking the same about him.

They’re both so fucked. He fires off a quick reply: **_ok don’t worry about it, I’ll see you later_ **

 

-

 

Evan goes home at the end of the day to find Connor sitting there on the doorstep. He sits down next to him and waits. After a while of silence, when Connor doesn’t say anything first, Evan tells him, “I care about you a lot.”

Connor picks at his fingernails. “Um.”

“Maybe that's weird of me to say, but I’m telling you because it’s why I was mad,” Evan says, before he can stop himself from saying it, because it’s what he really wants to say. “And also because you flake on me a lot because of it, but mostly because. I care about you and I want you to be okay and I—when I saw you guys this morning I knew something was really wrong and you just, you get high _so_ often, I...I know I’m not really making sense and I know it’s totally not my place to say this, but. There.”

There are a few more beats of silence.

“Thank you. For saying that.” Connor’s voice is strained.

Some more time goes by, and Evan waits patiently, feeling like the other boy will continue.

“I got in an argument with Zoe,” is how he starts. Another moment passes. He purses his lips. “It was stupid. I don’t even remember why we were fighting. But that’s how it usually goes. Anyway, it was when we were leaving the house, and I think she was like, ‘You can’t drive to school high!’ And she wanted to drive, but I wouldn’t give her the keys. So she called me an asshole and said something about how like, my parents wouldn’t have to treat me like a criminal if I wasn’t smoking pot all the fucking time. And I called her some really mean things, and then she hit me with her backpack, so I—I threw the stupid keys at her, and I didn’t mean to, really, but. They hit her pretty hard.” He exhales. “I’m such a dick. I could’ve hurt her.”

Evan stays quiet, and tries extremely hard not to think about how things are with _himself_ and Zoe right now. How Zoe hates him because she seems unable to stand even the thought of him wanting to be friends with her in middle school.

He needs to listen to Connor right now, not bring his own stupid problems into this.

“I know she hates me,” Connor says. “And she should. I’ve been so fucking awful to her. When we were younger my parents would fight about me all the time, and then I was always blasting music to drown it out and I’d scream at her through the walls for no reason, like, I took my anger out on her because my parents wouldn’t listen to me, and she would lock herself in her room, and never said anything. Our house was so fucking _loud_ . And she would just...sit in there, alone, and take it. She put up with that shit for _years_. And now we just argue. All the time.”

He pauses again. Evan stares at Connor’s boots, which are black and well worn, with scuffs on the toe parts, and places where the material has tiny holes ripped in it. He nudges Connor’s ankle with one sneaker-clad foot.

“I want things to change. I...I want her to like me, y’know? But I feel like it’s too late to fix.” He sniffs, and Evan looks up, to see him hastily wipe at his eyes with his sleeve. Seeing Connor cry is incredibly alarming. He looks frustrated. “I don’t know what to do.”

Evan moves a little closer, and says, gently, “Maybe, um, stop doing drugs so often? That’s...a start?”

Connor laughs. And if it sounds a little watery, well. Evan won’t tell anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is from connor's point of view......


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has a talk with his sister.

It’s November, and Connor is fucking tired.

He’s standing outside Zoe’s room, trying to gather the courage to knock. Normally he’d just barge in and deal with her anger later—or ignore it and act like she doesn’t exist—but. He wants to get this right.

God, it’s so fucking _dumb._ A year ago he wouldn’t have cared about this. About fixing his relationship with Zoe. Hell, even a few months ago, he probably wouldn’t have cared.

Mainly because he didn’t think he’d live long enough for it.

He had planned to kill himself on the first day of school, but then Evan showed up, with his apologies and his offer to be friends, and then Connor kept...delaying it. Each day he told himself, “Just wait another day. You can do it tomorrow.” Until it became something he wasn’t sure he even wanted to do anymore.

The idea never fully disappeared, of course. It’s remained somewhere in the back of his head, like always, and likes to pop back out whenever he fucks up. Likes to tell him everyone would be better off if he didn’t exist.

While he still believes that, he doesn’t really think he wants to die.

And so now that he doesn’t have active plans to commit suicide, he has to deal with things like facing the fact that his actions have consequences. He has to deal with how his words affect the people around him. He has to figure out how to mend his relationship with his sister.

He can’t really remember exactly when things went wrong. Most likely around the same time his “behavioral problems” began.

He’d honestly done his best to listen to his teachers, keep his hands to himself, keep quiet, don’t do this, don’t do that, but no matter how hard he tried, at the end of each school day, his mom got a phone call about some little thing he had done. At first it was just for minor infractions, like forgetting his homework again or snapping at some kid or refusing to come inside when recess was over. He never sat still, and his attention span was very short, and his teachers got tired of it. All the little things added up, and they didn’t want to deal with him anymore. That was kind of when he realized everyone saw him as a problem. It didn’t matter if he managed to not get sent to the principal’s office one day, or if he wasn’t sent out into the hall during class. (His second-grade teacher’s reaction to that was sort of like, _okay, so you failed slightly less than usual today. Great job. Now if only you could stop making my life a living hell? Thanks._ His dad was unimpressed, too.) Sometime after that, he started acting out on purpose, because if people only ever saw the bad in him, if he was incapable of doing what they wanted, what was the point in even trying?

He was this little eight-year-old who felt like he could never do anything right. He still feels a dull pang of anger whenever he thinks about it. If only there were a teacher who had worked with him instead of against him. If only someone had tried as hard to figure out what was really wrong with him—as hard as _he_ had tried to be good.

He can’t really remember why exactly he threw that printer in the third grade. He’s not even sure he had a good reason for it. He wishes he could say Mrs. G. had it coming, but everything surrounding the memory is pretty hazy.

His parents fought about him all the time—his mom believed that punishing him for every little thing wasn’t constructive, while his dad said that she was too easy on him and that nothing was going to change if she kept taking his side, and then she’d say, _“What do you mean, ‘taking his side,’ Larry, we’re his parents! We have to be on his side!”_

It was the same argument every night.

But eventually, they got tired of it and sort of seemed to give up on him, too. His mother stopped her efforts to take him to different counselors and clinics. His dad became someone he hated.

And Zoe?

She and Connor used to be best friends. For the first few years of their lives, they did everything together. But then when their parents stopped listening to him, he lashed out at her. She didn’t let it get to her for a while, but.

There are limits to how much one person can put up with.

Connor scrubs a hand over his face. Fuck this shit. He doesn’t want to think about all the ways he’s a fuck-up. He doesn’t want to mourn the relationship he’s long since lost.

He’s considering just going back to his room when Zoe comes bounding up the stairs.

She freezes when she sees him, fingers twitching for a moment on the banister. “What are you doing?” She asks suspiciously, eyes narrowed.

He glances at the door, then back at her, confused. “I thought you were in—” He cuts himself off. It doesn’t matter. “Never mind,” he says, and then almost turns to leave, but Zoe’s still staring at him like that, so he decides he needs to just do this now. Get it over with, like ripping off a band-aid. He squares his shoulders. “Uh, actually, can we talk?”

She crosses her arms, and her jaw is clenched like she would rather throw herself down the stairs than have a conversation with him, but she says, “What.”

He looks down at his socks. He’s not prepared for this. WWEHD—What Would Evan Hansen Do? Probably write out a script beforehand, so he’d know what to say. Or not get himself into this mess in the first place. Yeah, Evan would probably be a great brother if he had siblings.

“I wanted to, uh. Apologize.” Her shoulders go even tenser at this, but he barrels on. “For, like—I know I’ve been a shitty brother. And a terrible person, and there’s no excuse for all the things I’ve done and said to you, but…” He scratches the back of his neck, resisting the urge to punch the wall. Or himself, in the face. God knows he deserves it. “Uh. Yeah.” He finishes lamely.

All things considered, he thinks it’s not that bad of an apology. A little short, but it’s fine.

Zoe seems to think otherwise. Her eyebrows are drawn together, and she’s frowning, and that’s the face she usually makes when she’s so incredibly done with his bullshit, the face she makes when she’s about to yell at him to fuck off. But then her shoulders slump, and her chin wobbles a little, and Connor watches in horror as her eyes fill up with angry tears.

“Fuck, what—” He clears his throat, because there’s a weird lump there. “Shit. I’m gonna just go.”

Zoe shakes her head hard. He tries not to be annoyed at the lack of verbal response. She sits down at the top of the stairs and wipes her eyes, and hesitantly, he goes to sit next to her, while putting as much distance between them as possible. They’re only two feet away from each other but they’re a million worlds apart. He rests his arms on his thighs and picks at a hangnail. Waits.

He’s not sure what he’s waiting for.

“I don’t,” she says finally, and her voice comes out kind of scratchy. “That’s like, nice, but. I don’t forgive you?”

Connor's ears ring.

“Oh,” he says.

She sniffs quietly. Her leg is moving up and down. Restless energy. She’s always been just as fidgety as he is, but she’s better at hiding it, and better at not letting it get in the way of things. “Just. You’re such an _asshole._ ”

“I know,” he says numbly.

She makes a frustrated sound. “I don’t even know what to say to you.”

“I know,” he says again. “Sorry.”

“That’s— _God,_ Connor. What the fuck. Fuck you.”

He deserves it. He deserves much more than that, honestly.

The knee of his jeans is ripped, and he pulls a loose thread from it.

_WWEHD?_

“Sorry,” Connor says again.

“Why are you doing this?” She asks after a long minute of silence.

He shrugs one shoulder. “I genuinely feel bad?” He says, and when she scoffs, he says, “Fuck you, I’m being serious.”

She just stares at him, anger practically radiating off of her.

“Look,” he sighs. “I want to fix things. I figured the best way to start on that was to. Apologize to you.”

“I mean, okay,” Zoe says slowly. They sit quietly for another goddamn minute or so. Connor hates this. “I don’t forgive you,” she repeats.

“You said that already.”

“I just. You have to know that...everything isn’t just gonna magically go back to normal.”

“I know.”

“I still hate you.”

“I know.” God, he sounds like a broken record.

“Okay.” She glances over at him one last time, then stands up. “Good talk.”

“Good talk,” he echoes.

The alarm chirps downstairs as the front door opens, and then their mom is there at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at them. She has her yoga stuff with her. For a moment she just stares up at her kids, sort of panicked, and Connor knows how it must look, with his sister standing there next to him, face all pink and puffy like it gets after she cries. But then Zoe says quietly, “It’s all good, Mom,” and their mom seems to decide that she’s not going to get involved.

“What do you guys want for dinner?” She asks instead, forcing a smile.

“I’m good with whatever,” they both say in unison, and their mom gives them a funny look before leaving.

Connor gets up. Zoe stares at him, and he stares back, and then she looks away first and goes to her room. He’s already inside his own when he hears her say, “Connor?”

He pops his head around the doorframe, expression carefully blank.

She’s gripping her doorknob tightly. “Thanks. For apologizing.”

“Uh,” is all he gets out.

“I’m—excited to get to know you again,” she says awkwardly, and then closes the door, leaving him to think about what that means.

  


-

  


**Connor:** just talked to zoe

 **Evan:**!!! how did it go?

 **Connor:** she listened to what i had to say, at least

 **Evan:** But?

 **Connor:** but she said she doesn’t forgive me for all the shit i put her through

 **Connor:** but. that’s ok

 **Connor:** like, you dont really know the full extent of how awful ive been to her? so i’m kind of glad she said that because tbh if she did forgive me i’d be concerned for her judgement

 **Evan:** oh. so, that’s good, I guess?

 **Evan:** are you alright?

 **Connor:** yeah and yeah

 **Connor:** she said she’s excited to get to know me again??

 **Connor:** and i know it’s gonna take time for us to be like. Siblings again. but.

 **Evan:** :’D!!

 **Connor:** big mood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> connor doesn't really know that evan is just as much of a mess as he is (maybe even more), so in this situation, "WWEHD?" works 
> 
> if you comment and follow me on my tumblr @jaredklein I'll love you forever, and also I might update sooner :-)
> 
> also?? I almost have 70k words written for this fic and I'm nearing 28 chapters??? that's so wild to me. ok anyways thanks for reading! see u all in a few days


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alana is great. 
> 
> Connor is...not so great, but he's making efforts to be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for (brief) suicidal thoughts

Evan is sitting on the floor in his room, homework papers all around him, but instead of working on anything, he’s just. Staring blankly at all of it.

It’s like he’s frozen. _Pick up the freaking pen,_ he tells himself, but his hand doesn’t move. The pen stays there on top of his textbook. He has so much to do—a lab write-up for APES, a packet of questions on Frankenstein (which he’s like three chapters behind on), a test review for Pre-Cal, and like four other things he’s probably forgetting about.

And all those fucking scholarship essays that his mom will be asking about soon.

The stress is going to eat him alive.

_“Start with one thing, and work from there.”_

It’s Dr. Sherman’s advice, and it helps, a little. He thinks about what needs to be done first. His Pre-Cal test is tomorrow, so the test review it is, and then he’ll read the SparkNotes for chapters eighteen through twenty-two of Frankenstein.

 _Math first_.

But then he’s staring down at the problems and he still doesn’t understand any of it and fuck he wants to pull out his hair.

He suddenly recalls the time Alana offered to tutor him, and then he doesn’t think, just messages her before he can talk himself out of it. He doesn’t have her number, but they follow each other on Instagram, so he sends her a DM.

It takes half an hour for him to get a reply. A whole thirty minutes in which he sits there, wringing his hands, trying to start on the lab and trying not to think _what if she was just saying that to be nice, that seems like the kind of thing she would do, because she’s just a nice person, and she’s the type of person who’s always busy, so she would definitely be too busy to help some dumb guy she doesn’t even know, like. She’s on the student council and is an officer for at least two honor societies, and I’m pretty sure she’s in all AP classes, and yeah, there’s no way she would have been serious about her offer, not with that workload, and oh god what if Zoe told her what you said that day at lunch, and even if Alana was actually going to help you before, she definitely isn’t going to now, now that she knows what a creep and weirdo and loser you are—_

**Hi Evan! Yes, I was serious about my offer and would love to help. :)**

**Can you give me your number so we can continue this conversation that way?**

He breathes out, _almost_ sends her the wrong number— _which would have been so embarrassing if you didn’t realize and she texted the number and obviously you didn’t reply, because it wasn’t your number, and she’d be like ?? and you’d be thinking, ‘why hasn’t she texted me yet,' and spiraling all over again, even though it would have been your own fault because you gave her the wrong number_ —and then leans back against his bed and waits some more.

He shouldn’t be surprised when his phone rings. He shouldn’t, because it’s Alana Beck and she’s definitely the kind of person who calls instead of texts, and because what else could she have meant when she asked for his number, because how well could she have helped him over text?

Evan ignores his initial _I hate phone calls I hate phone calls so much_ thought, and hits accept.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Alana,” he says, and winces when his voice comes out all weird and crackly. He clears his throat.

“Hey, Evan! How’s it going?” She asks, cheerful as ever.

“Um, well, I’m—I’m just—I have a lot of homework and I’m really stuck, um, on this Pre-Cal review, and I think I might fail the test tomorrow.”

“You’re not going to fail,” she says. It’s not as reassuring as she was probably aiming for. “Because I’m going to help you! Okay, I have the packet in front of me. Which problems are you having trouble with?”

“All of it,” he tells her, as that embarrassing, anxious laugh bubbles out of him. “Like, seriously, when—when I said I’m stuck, um. I meant really stuck.”

There’s a pause, and then the sound of shuffling paper. “Okay. So number one,” she says, and then launches into an explanation of the type of equation he has to use, and breaks everything down for him, step by step. She literally goes through every question with him until she’s sure he gets it.

“Thank you so much,” he tells her sometime around eight. He feels guilty when he sees the time, and says, “Really, like, I’m so grateful. You probably missed dinner because of me, and I know you have other homework and stuff—”

“It’s really no problem at all,” she interrupts. “I like tutoring people! It’s fun. Don’t even worry about it. Plus, I do most of my homework during school, so that I have more time after for all my extracurriculars and other commitments.”

He imagines her in the library before school and between classes, solving math problems in less than five minutes. Typing up a Common App essay at lunch. “Oh,” he says. “And—dinner?”

“My dads are out of town, so I didn’t really feel like eating by myself. They’re out of town a lot. I usually just make ramen or something.” More shuffling sounds on the other line, then she laughs a little. “Sorry. That was oversharing. I do that sometimes.”

She says sorry, but it doesn’t seem like she really means it, and she doesn’t seem embarrassed about it, which is appalling to Evan. He wonders what that’s like, to not—to not care about something like oversharing to your peers.

He remembers asking her one time what she did over the summer, and her telling him about her dead grandmother, almost matter-of-factly. In reply to what she said just now on the phone, he thinks, _I know you do. More than just “sometimes.”_

What he tells her is, “That’s okay, I get it.” What he does is let himself laugh along.

“So you _promise_ you understand it now?” Alana asks.

“Yes, actually,” Evan says, looking at his phone. It lays on his bed, on speaker, and the call time says one hour and fourteen minutes. “You’re a better teacher than Mrs. Johnson, for sure. Thank you, um, so much.”

“Next time, let me know the _second_ you need help,” she says. “Pre-Cal isn’t even my best class. I’m also really good at science, and Econ, and I have an A-plus in AP Lit right now, so.”

Evan can’t imagine her having anything less than an A-plus in _any_ of her classes. “Um, noted, thank you.”

“Anytime,” she says with enthusiasm. “Take care, Evan!”

And—Alana is intense, and kind of known for being bossy, and the way that she talks, in those short, concise sentences, can be a little annoying sometimes, if he’s being honest. But he’s warming up to her. Because she’s kind. Because she’s genuine. Because she took the time out of her day to help him—so well, in fact, that he makes a B-plus on the test.

And because the thing she told him about her dads being gone a lot—he gets that. He really does.

And because, after that day, when she runs into him at school or at the Murphys’, she asks him if he’s taking care of himself, and says she knows there’s a lot of homework and college apps and other stuff to do these days but “it’s important to remember to take breaks and stay hydrated and take time for yourself!”

He thinks about her, sitting at her lunch table doing homework, thinks about all those clubs and honor societies and countless other things that she’s involved in, and he wants to say, _“Okay, but does anyone ever tell you to do the same for yourself? Who’s_ your _mom friend?”_

He wishes, certainly not for the first time in his life, that he could be brave enough to reach out.

 

-

 

Evan is walking to school. It’s a beautiful morning. The sky is a clear blue, with a few cotton candy pink clouds streaked here and there. It looks like a painting, and immediately puts him in a good mood. He writes a mental letter to himself as he walks, hoping for it to come true.

_Today’s going to be a good day and here’s why: The weather is nice. The sunrise is kind of amazing. You got a decent grade on that Pre-Cal test. Alana texted you this morning saying she wants to meet up before lunch to talk about Environmental Club. And you’re going to visit Connor at his locker before class._

He can tell as soon as he enters the school building that something is. Off. There’s a sort of tension that has fallen over the main hallway as people talk uncharacteristically quietly with their friends. It feels like everyone is whispering, holding their breaths. Evan can’t help but feel like they’re all talking about him.

But then he spots Connor. The long-haired teen has his head inside his locker, and he’s still, aside from the shaky rise and fall of his shoulders and the twitching of his fingers, which are clenched around the locker door.

Evan’s stomach sinks as he realizes that everyone is probably talking about _him._

“Hey,” he says once he’s next to Connor, resisting the urge to put his hand on the other boy's arm. To steady him. To offer some sort of comfort, maybe, even though he doesn’t know what he’d be comforting him for.

Connor does not reply. His grip tightens on the door.

“Hey,” Evan tries again. He tries to sound as gentle and nonjudgemental as possible, but the effect is kind of canceled out by how his voice cracks, and he winces. “What—what’s up?”

There are a few seconds of silence—a few long, incredibly agonizing seconds in which Evan starts to panic and think _maybe I should have just left him alone, maybe I did something to make him hate me and now he’s giving me the silent treatment, maybe he realized he doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore_ —and then Connor slowly pulls his head out of his locker. It feels like the entire hallway is staring at them, but when Evan looks around nervously, there are only a couple of people glancing over. It isn’t so stiflingly silent anymore. Everyone else seems to have moved on to other things.

“I, uh,” Connor says, staring into the depths of his locker, and his voice comes out low and rough in a way Evan’s never heard from him before. “I need—I really need you to not be here right now.”

Evan blinks, taken aback. He desperately ignores the sudden tightness in his chest and says, “What?”

“Go _away!_  Seriously, right fucking now.”

 _Oh god oh god this is it this is your worst nightmare, this is one of the worst-case scenarios you always think up, this is the end of your friendship with Connor Murphy, it was short but hey, it was fun while it lasted!_ “I-I don’t understand—did something—”

Connor whirls on him with this horrible, truly terrifying look in his eyes, and Evan can’t help the way he flinches away because that look, he’s seen it before—it’s the same way Connor looked at Zoe that day in the car, when they fought on the drive to Evan’s house and then Evan watched from his window as Connor screamed at his sister with this same sort of  _venom_ in his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Evan, it’s pretty simple, I need you to get the fuck away from me, before I fucking—”

And then he blinks and stops mid-sentence, and his eyes widen and something almost like fear flits across his face as he stares at Evan, and then Evan distantly registers that his own lip is quivering, and _oh fuck oh my god don’t cry don’t cry in front of him that’ll just make everything worse you have to go you have to go right now_ —

“Sorry, I’m really sorry, I’m so sorry,” Evan gets out, and then he’s pushing his way through groups of people as he stammers and stutters out apologies, and they give him weird looks as he makes his way past and he _knows_ he must look fucking ridiculous and pathetic, he knows his cheeks are scarlet and his face is probably doing that gross crumpling thing it does when he’s about to cry, and _oh god everyone’s going to be talking about this. People are going to tell their friends, “Evan Hansen had a total breakdown in the middle of the hallway this morning,” and their friends will reply with, “Who’s Evan Hansen?”_

His phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out of his pocket and with blurred vision, reads the notification.

 **Alana:** Hey, I'm so sorry but I just remembered I have a meeting with Mr. Montgomery at lunch. I can try to meet up with you tomorrow instead if you still want? :)

For some reason, this is the final straw for Evan. 

He ends up in the bathroom closest to his first period class. He stands in the stall furthest from the door and lets himself cry properly, because otherwise, he’ll be on the verge of tears all day.

Logically, he knows that he should talk to Connor. Deep down, he thinks that there was probably something else going on and that’s why Connor said what he did, but that thought doesn’t stop Evan from doing what he does best—overthinking. Berating himself. Feeling hopeless and sorry for himself and so fucking _lonely_. _This is what happens when you put yourself out there._

_Maybe writing those stupid letters to yourself just jinxes everything. Maybe when you start the day off by declaring that it’s going to be a good day, whoever’s in charge of the universe decides to throw you a curveball to remind you that you really don’t know shit, and never will. You say, “Today is going to be a good day,” and God says, “haha you thought,” and makes everything a billion times worse than it already is._

Or maybe it’s just him.

What is it about him that makes it so _impossible_ to make and maintain connections with people? He’s a coward and a loser and he’ll probably never get to be a part of something, he’ll never get to have that real and true and good kind of friendship with anyone, and he _knows_ this for a fact because it’s been proven to him time and time again.

Jared proves it to him all the time.

_(Jared hates you Jared hates you he’s always hated you and he hates you even more since what happened in the parking lot and he hates you he hates you he hates you.)_

Zoe...well. He’s not sure there was anything really there in the first place. It was ridiculous of him to hope, even just a little bit, that they might become friends one day.

 _(She couldn’t even stand the_ idea _of being friends with you. She was repulsed by the knowledge that someone like you thought you could have a crush on someone like her and she hates you she hates you too.)_

And Connor. Fuck.

_Fuck._

Evan can’t think about that, can’t think about him, because that hurts way more than the others.

_You shouldn’t have let yourself get so close to him so soon, you shouldn’t have developed this stupid crush on him, you shouldn’t have let yourself believe that he would really want to be friends with you._

The warning bell rings. Evan wipes his face with the sleeve of his hoodie and leaves the bathroom, which has thankfully remained empty since he came in. He goes to first period. Then second. Third. He has a headache from crying, and a weird aftertaste in his mouth, and he chews hard on the inside of his cheek until it hurts.

In Pre-Cal, he sits by the window. The sky is still his favorite shade of blue.

This time, when he looks at it, he wishes he were dead.

He waits outside the door to Econ for as long as he possibly can. It feels like he’s preparing himself for war.

When he finally walks in, Connor isn’t there. Evan is relieved, and then he feels guilty for feeling relieved, and then he’s disappointed and worried because what the hell happened this morning before Evan got to school? Why was Connor so _angry?_

He considers sending Connor a text. He even pulls out his phone and rereads their last few conversations—photos of trees, discussions on Frankenstein (Connor has a lot of opinions about everything he reads), inside jokes, because they _have inside jokes now_ —feeling an awful pang in his chest as he does so. But then he relives the events of the morning in his head and practically drops his phone onto the desk. _Leave him alone. He doesn’t want to talk to you._

It’s ten minutes into the period and he’s trying to get his work done—all he has to do is write a paragraph explaining any two economic systems, and it should be so easy but he can’t _focus_ —when the door swings open, and there’s Connor, making his way to the front, handing Mr. Smith a pass. Mr. Smith says something, and Connor nods distractedly without looking at him. His eyes are on Evan. They stare at each other from across the room, both wide-eyed, until Mr. Smith says impatiently, “Have a seat, Connor.”

Connor’s expression is unreadable as he makes his way to his desk. Next to Evan. Evan looks down at his textbook, cheeks burning. He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

He’s absolutely not expecting Connor to face him and say quietly and sincerely, “I’m, uh. Really sorry about earlier.”

Evan watches the way Connor's leg bounces up and down. He immediately wants to jump for joy and tell him it’s okay, but he _can’t,_ because whenever he gets his hopes up, whenever he lets himself be happy, whenever he allows himself good things—he ends up crying in the school bathroom. He ends up trying not to think about Captain America lunch boxes. He ends up avoiding Jared’s car in the parking lot.

He tries to maintain a neutral expression and asks, “Why were you—what happened?”

Connor looks embarrassed. “Someone said something about, like—how I’m just—” He picks at his nail polish, blows a strand of hair away from his face. “It doesn’t _matter_ what happened, okay, I was just—you know sometimes when I get mad I can’t think, and I didn’t want you to be there in case I lashed out, so I—ended up lashing out anyway.” A pause. “Sorry. For real. I feel, just. Awful about it.”

Evan’s head still hurts, and having to process all of this definitely doesn’t help. He rubs his forehead, and then looks at Connor, who’s sitting there fidgeting with a regretful expression on his face, and Evan’s poor heart just can’t take it. “Okay,” he says. Connor’s eyebrows shoot up. “Next time I’ll try to leave you alone. Um, I mean, if you—if you get like that again, and that way we can avoid the yelling and the, um, crying.” He trails off and cringes. So does Connor, a little.

“I’m really sorry,” he says again.

And Evan knows this is probably hard for him, apologizing so much, so he just cracks a small smile and asks, “Do you know how a market economy works?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so idk how I feel about this chapter, but I know I like the next one. (it's kind of a big one.) I'll probably update very soon because I don't really like leaving things...here
> 
> thanks for reading! please leave kudos and comment because it means a whole lot to me. and follow me on tumblr @jaredklein


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan gets his cast off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: severe suicidal thoughts, an almost suicide attempt, and probably excessive swearing. pls take care of yourselves.

When Evan gets his cast off, he goes spiraling.

Well, he’s been spiraling for a while now, but the day he gets his cast off is such a particularly shitty day that it sends him into a _full, deep_ spiral. The kind of spiraling that makes his brain go to dark fucking places and leads him to do messy, idiotic, reckless things. (Things like climbing trees and letting go.)

It’s Friday. He sits in the doctor’s office alone, and they saw the cast off and then ask if he wants to keep it, and he looks at it, at the giant “CONNOR” and the messy little “Jared” inside of the first “O,” and Zoe’s loopy cursive on the underside. And Evan kind of _does_ want to keep it, but what comes out of his mouth is, “No,” and then they throw it away and he can’t get it back. He thinks about how it’s a reminder of what he did, and how stupid he can get, and so it’s fine. He has no use for it, anyway.

But as he goes back to school, he starts to think it was also a symbol for like. New beginnings, or something. His friends’—Friends? Maybe he should just save that word for Connor, because the other two sure as hell aren’t his friends, not anymore, not right now, and _maybe_ he should just not use the word at all, because he’ll jinx it like he always does, and then end up with no friends _at all_ ever again, not even Connor—signatures are on a cast that now sits there in the doctor’s office trash can.

The bare skin on his arm feels strange, too exposed. And it’s significantly paler than his other, so that’s another thing for him to be self-conscious about.

He gets to school right around the time that third period is about to end. He has a hoodie in his locker, and he puts it on as the bell rings and students come rushing out of class into the hallways, and then horrifyingly enough, he makes eye contact with Jared, who is just a few lockers away. Evan averts his gaze immediately, trying to get his books out as fast as possible so he can make a run for it, but Jared stares and lingers, and then, like he’s made his mind up about something, nods and _makes his way over._

“You got your cast off," he says.

There’s a weird edge to his voice.

“Y-Yeah,” Evan says, looking at him again. Jared’s headphones are placed around his neck, and his glasses are slipping down his nose a little. Evan doesn’t know why he’s here. They’ve both been avoiding each other ever since the stupid parking lot incident.

“We should celebrate,” Jared says, and any traces of hesitance are gone.

Which, what?

The awkwardness is starting to get panic-inducing, and Evan is considering saying sorry again or asking him what’s up even though it’s too late into the “conversation” for him to say that, or maybe he’ll just throw up all over Jared’s nice sneakers, and that’ll be the end of it all. Thankfully, that’s when Alana comes up to them, saving Evan from saying or doing anything he’ll regret.

Sweet, amazing Alana Beck. An angel in disguise. An angel in a patterned dress and denim jacket.

“Hey, Evan!” She smiles at him, then at Jared. “Jared, right?”

“Yup,” Jared says, popping the P. “You look...busy as ever, Alana.”

She does. She’s clutching a stack of textbooks and papers to her chest, and she has a slightly harried expression on her face that she’s trying to hide with a smile.

“I have a lot going on,” is all she says, still smiling forcefully. Then she turns to face Evan properly and hands him a sheet of paper from the top of her pile. “Here. It’s the Pre-Cal notes you missed this morning.”

Alana is not in his Pre-Cal class. “How did you know I—”

She cuts him off with a dismissive wave of her hand, and says, “If you need any help again, _please_ let me know.” Then she adds thoughtfully, “We could probably meet sometime tomorrow or Sunday to go over it if you need to.”

“Thanks, Alana,” Evan says in a small voice. He puts the notes in his backpack carefully.

Jared pipes up, then. “Hey, Alana, you wanna come to this party Evan’s having?”

“What? I’m not—” Evan lets out a laugh, confused, glancing over at Jared. He seems serious. “I’m not having a party.”

“You absolutely are,” Jared argues. “A celebration, for getting your cast off.”

Alana looks at Evan’s arm, then exclaims, “Oh, hey! I feel kind of bad, I never got to sign it.”

“That’s—that’s okay,” Evan says weakly.

“So what do you say—Evan’s house? Tonight?”

“That’s really nice of you to offer, but like I said, I have a lot going on.” Alana shifts her weight from foot to foot.

“What do you have ‘going on’ tonight?” Jared asks, making air quotes. “It’s Friday.”

She sets her jaw. “I’m helping set up for the art fair. For NHS hours.”

“Of _course_ you are. What about tomorrow?”

“What?”

“Do you have anything tomorrow?”

“I...I’m free after six?”

“Great,” Jared says with a grin. “So we’ll do tomorrow night. After six.”

Evan _does not_ understand what’s happening right now.

Alana looks just as confused as he is. She’s grinning too, though. “You don’t have to do that. Besides, I really shouldn’t, I have a _lot_ of homework this week.”

“Jeez, do you ever just, like, take a break, Alana?” Jared rolls his eyes a little, and Evan _does not understand any of this,_ and especially does not understand why Jared is talking to Alana like he’s known her for a while, when they clearly have never even talked before this moment. It makes him uncomfortable.

He looks down the hallway and sees Connor coming out of a classroom. They immediately make eye contact, and Evan makes a slightly panicked face, like, _help me,_ and Connor furrows his eyebrows and starts walking over.

Then Evan looks at Alana again, and she’s looking at him in this way that’s almost...hopeful. And he has no idea why, but before he can stop himself, he’s telling her, “Yeah, come over tomorrow. It’ll be...fun.”

He immediately regrets this, wondering how the hell he can be so colossally _stupid_ all the time.

Alana smiles wide and adjusts her glasses. “Okay.”

And then she leaves, and Connor is there next to Evan, clutching the strap of his bag. “Was she bothering you?”

“No, actually,” Evan says, and then whirls on Jared. “What—what the hell, Jared?”

Connor looks between the two of them. “What’s happening?” he asks warily.

“What?” Jared says, raising his hands in defense. His glasses still sit too low on his nose. “Evan’s mad because we’re having a party to celebrate him getting his cast off.”

Connor seems to fully notice, then, that the cast is gone. He brushes his fingers against Evan’s sleeve. “Congrats.”

“Thanks,” Evan mumbles, willing himself to not blush.

Jared’s eyebrows are raised. “You in, Murphy?”

“Depends, _Kleinman,_ ” Connor shoots back, “on if you’re gonna explain yourself to Evan before then.”

Evan feels the color drain from his face. He doesn’t need this right now, does not need any of it. “Connor—”

Connor glances back at him, and his eyes soften a little. “I’m sick of him being a dick to you for no reason.” Then he turns his attention back to Jared, crossing his arms. “Fucking explain.”

Jared’s expression is unreadable as he and Connor stare at each other. “I—” The warning bell rings, signaling that they have two minutes left to get to class. “I’m sorry, okay,” and he’s looking at Evan now, kind of sheepish. “I know I’m an asshole. I freaked out and...I don’t know why I avoided you.”

“You—” Evan takes a deep breath. “Just. It was _your_ fault, that you—that you hit the car. Not mine? So.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“Okay. I—It’s okay.”

“ _Seriously?"_  Connor says incredulously.

“It’s okay, _but,_ ” Evan corrects himself in a rush. “You, um—you have to stop doing this. I’m...I’m either your friend or I’m not.”

These are Connor’s words, he thinks. Or maybe he said something similar, once.

“Okay,” Jared agrees. Another warning bell—one minute left. “I gotta go.” He jerks his thumb towards the main hallway to their right. “I’ll text you later.”

“Okay,” Evan says as Jared walks away, and then it’s just him and Connor. He gets deja vu for a moment, remembering that fateful day when Jared made the “school shooter chic” comment and then left, and then it was just Evan and Connor staring each other down in the hallway.

Connor shuts Evan’s locker for him, and then takes his arm for a brief second. “Come on, I’ll walk you to science.”

  


-

  


The last thing Evan wants or needs right now is a party.

Well, okay, it’s not really a party. It’s just him, Connor, Jared, and Alana, because apparently Jared forgot that _none of them have other friends to invite_ so there’s no way it could have been a party.

So it’s him, Connor, Jared, and Alana at his house, having a Not Party, and he forgot to let his mom know that he’s having people over because he’s been a little busy trying not to _kill himself_ since yesterday, but she’s working a late shift (yet again) so he guesses it doesn’t really matter anyway. Evan does _not_ think about this, and he doesn’t think about Zoe, either, like would she have been invited if he hadn’t fucked things up between them right when they were starting to maybe become friends? The answer is probably, because she’s friends with Alana, and could have gotten a ride with Connor. _Would she have come, if things were different?_

They eat pizza. Alana fills any awkward silences with her chatter, and Jared cracks some dumb jokes, (“he’s comin’ out of his cast and he’s been doing just fine,” he half-heartedly sings at one point) and Connor makes faces at Evan like, every two minutes, as if he knows he’s in a crappy mood and needs cheering up. Or something.

It’s all so...surreal. Strange. Why are they even doing this?

_Because you got your cast off._

_Which you only had in the first place because you did a stupid, stupid thing. And now you want to attempt the stupid thing again. Instead of being happy that it’s off, and moving on, you’re still stuck in the same fucking place as you were in the summer. You’re sitting in your living room with Connor, Jared, and Alana, and you’re thinking about killing yourself._

What the fuck is _wrong_ with him?

“We need cake,” Jared is saying. “This isn’t a party without cake.”

Evan thinks, kind of bitterly, _It isn’t a party, period._

“True,” Connor says, but his tone tells Evan he’s not serious, just humoring Jared. “Why don’t you run to the store and get us some, Kleinman?”

“I can’t drive.”

“You drove yourself here,” Alana says. “Your car is parked outside.”

So they don’t get cake, thanks to Jared’s laziness. Which Evan is grateful for. It’s just that he’d be more grateful if they weren’t here at all. (Except for maybe Connor.)

He’s just so tired.

His arm aches.

They get bored, after a while of just talking, so Jared suggests they watch some TV. Evan turns it on and pulls up Netflix, and then gives the remote to him. This is a mistake. Jared picks some random episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia—which is a show Evan has seen with him a couple of times before, and hates.

Connor agrees less than halfway through the episode. “Uh, this show is trash.”

“I know,” Jared says happily.

Alana says, “I genuinely dislike this.”

“I know, right?”

They watch another episode, and then Alana’s dad picks her up. Right after that, Jared leaves as well. Evan puts the empty pizza box by the trash can, and cleans up the table.

Connor enters the kitchen, clearing his throat. “Are you, uh, okay?”

_I feel like I’m on autopilot._ _I’ve been thinking about seriously, really killing myself, again, for the past two days. I_ _was writing a suicide note in my head just now, while we were watching a dumb TV show together._

“Just tired.”

Connor nods. He’s putting his hair up in a bun, and then he goes to the sink, turns on the water, and begins doing the dishes. Just like that.

Evan stands there, staring at Connor’s back. He can see the muscles move through his shirt. The back of his neck is pale, and there’s a knobby bone there that Evan wants to touch, to press his fingers against as he pulls Connor close to him.

Evan shudders on an exhale.

When Connor has to go home, late that night, he lingers for a while by the door and draws out their conversation for as long as possible, as if he doesn’t really want to leave Evan by himself. And part of Evan thinks,  _that’s nice of him, cute,_ but the other part of him thinks _Go_ _d, is it that fucking obvious how shitty I’m feeling right now?_

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Connor says, and he reaches out his hand, just barely, and then drops it back to his side. As he gets in his car and pulls out of the driveway, Evan thinks, _no you won’t._

_(Because I’ll be dead by then.)_

That’s when he starts to cry.

He’s standing hunched over on the porch, eyes burning, and that’s when he lets himself really think about it. His last plan failed miserably, left him with scraped hands and a broken bone and an intense fear of hospitals. He thinks about downing a ton of pills, which seems like the best option because they’re just _sitting_ there in that stupid wooden box on his nightstand, but then he remembers reading one time that you could puke while unconscious and then drown in your own puke, and that's just horrifying, so he moves on to thinking about slitting his wrists—only that’s way worse and his whole body jerks violently as he imagines all the blood and the fact that his mom would find him like that and she’d have to pay a fortune to get new carpet put in because all the blood would be impossible to clean, and then she’d be even more broke because of the costs of the funeral _and_ the new carpet, and then she’d probably consider killing herself too.

And—this is usually what stops him, when he gets like this out of nowhere.

The thought of his mom having to find him and deal with the aftermath.

He’s already ruined her life so much, she doesn’t need the added burden of finding her son’s dead body. _How would she cry?_ He wonders morbidly. Would she sob so hard she’d throw up—like he used to do when he was younger and cried too much? Would she be angry with herself? _Because maybe she’d think she could have been a better mom, or if she worked less she’d be around more and she’d have found me when it wasn’t too late, or—or would she be mad at me, because I could have talked to her, because she always tells me I can talk to her but I never do—_

This time, these thoughts don’t stop him. He just says to himself, “So not here.”

He’s locking the door behind him without thinking, barely remembering to grab his phone, which is pointless, because if he’s going to kill himself it doesn’t matter if he has it anyway.

He ends up somewhere in the woods near his neighborhood. It’s dark, and too quiet, and cold, and he feels so helpless, standing there among the trees, alone—like he always is and always will be—with tears streaming down his face and snot dripping down into his mouth. _God you’re so fucking pathetic,_ he thinks. _Climb fucking higher this time._

And he does. He quickly finds what looks like the tallest tree nearby and scales it without another thought, wiping his face with his sleeve numbly as he goes. He can’t feel his hands even though he knows he’s getting splinters in his palms, and that should scare him, that he’s dissociating so hard he can’t feel his own body, but it doesn’t matter because he’ll be gone soon, he’ll be gone soon, he—

He looks down.

Big mistake. The air rushes out of him. He’s too high up, and suddenly he’s thinking about Jared belting Kesha in the car, and Zoe’s smile, and the way Alana continually checks in on how he’s doing in his classes, and—and watching movies with Connor, sitting in the shade with Connor at lunch, getting ice cream at A La Mode, Connor’s long hair pulled back to show his neck and his goofy ears, Connor’s laugh, Connor’s eyes, one blue and one brown, Connor doing the dishes for him, and suddenly all he can think about is Connor Connor Connor and what Connor would think of him if he did this, what Evan would think of _himself_ if he did this now because fuck, he can’t kill himself when he’s only _just_ gotten...friends. He’s not entirely alone, not anymore. He wants to fix things with Zoe. He wants to tells Connor how he feels about him. He wants to tell his mom he loves her. He can’t do this.

He hasn’t even written a _note._

He hooks an arm around the trunk and fumbles for his phone—he supposes it’s a good thing he grabbed it before leaving, after all—and shaking hard, he hits the call button on a blurry name. It rings twice, and then—

“Man what the fuck, it’s two in the fucking morning,” comes Jared’s voice on the other end of the line, groggy, and fuck, how long has Evan been here? How long did he walk for? It didn’t seem that far on his way, but then again, he hasn’t been thinking clearly at all. And also, he called _Jared_ by accident, instead of Connor. Fucking _crap._

“I’m—really sorry, never mind, I—”

A sigh. “What is it, Evan?”

“I…” He swallows. “I did something stupid.

“What?” There’s a rustling sound, and then Jared sounds a little more alert. “Dude, what.”

“I did something really, really stupid.”

“Like?”

Evan opens his mouth. No sound comes out.

“Fucking—Evan, you’re supposed to call _911_ if you—”

“I didn’t—it’s not—” Evan takes a shuddering breath. He is up _so high,_ and he can’t feel his hands. “I’m not hurt, I just. Don’t call 911. Please.”

“Goddammit. Where are you?”

Evan tells him. Jared swears some more, and then there’s more rustling sounds and a soft thud, like he’s getting out of bed and moving around.

“I’m leaving now,” Jared tells him.

“Okay,” Evan says in a small voice. He expects Jared to hang up, but he doesn’t. He keeps Evan on the phone as he drives, and tries to calm him down in his asshole-ish way, and Evan holds onto the trunk of the tree for dear life. Which is a funny saying, maybe even ironic, he thinks, especially now, given the circumstances. _Holding on for dear life._

He doesn’t know how long it takes for Jared to get there. When he says, “Okay, how am I supposed to find you in this _literal forest?_ ” Evan tells him, “Go to, um, the tallest tree you see. Kind of near the fence. I think.”

Evan hears footsteps, and the sound of a twig snapping.

“I think you’re close by,” Evan lets him know.

“Dude what the fuck, where are you.”

Evan looks down and sees Jared—he’s hard to make out from up so high, but it’s him. An oddly shaped figure in the dark of the night, maybe ten feet away. “Um, go to your left and walk a little bit more. And—and then look up.”

“Is this a fucking joke? Because it isn’t funny.” Then, “Are you _in a fucking tree?_ ”

Evan laughs, for no reason, and now Jared is standing directly underneath, looking up into the branches, and he commands, “Hang up the phone and get the fuck down before I call 911.”

“Okay,” Evan says between laughs— _stop laughing what the hell is wrong with you—_ and then he shoves his phone in his pocket and starts climbing down. He still can’t feel his hands, so it takes a good while for him to reach the ground, and then Jared is directly in front of him, _pushing_ him. Evan’s back hits the tree trunk, and he barely even registers the impact of it.

“What the _fuck,_ you asshole, it’s two A.M. and you made me drive out to this creepy ass forest ‘cause you—” Then he stops, and steps backward like he’s been burned, something like realization dawning on his face. He stares at Evan for a long, long moment, then mutters, “Fuck, come on.” And he leads the way back to his car.

Jared waits until Evan has sat down and closed the door before he gets in himself. There’s music playing. Jared must have left it on the whole time. Evan makes out, “ _I make lists in my sleep, baby, what’s my sin?_ ” and he asks, almost incredulously, “Are you listening to Rent?”

“No,” Jared says. He turns it up just a little bit.

They sit through three more songs from the soundtrack, without talking to each other. Jared drives slow. Too slow.

Evan’s brain has sort of shut down. The last time he did this, the last time he climbed a tree, and fell, and didn’t die, he immediately had a panic attack.

Right now, his mind is just blank.

It’s something he’s never experienced before.

“Okay,” Jared says finally, voice a little shaky. “So we can’t just _not_ talk about what just happened.”

“It’s not what you think,” Evan says, voice sounding far away to his own ears, and it’s like he doesn’t even make an effort to try to be convincing.

“Evan, you call me in the middle of the night from a _tree,_ over twenty feet up, saying you did something stupid, and let’s _also_ mention the fact that back in August you fell from a tree and broke your fucking arm. So tell me again that it’s not what I fucking think.”

“I—” He’s a bad liar on a regular day, but right now he is so beyond tired, and his brain isn’t working, and he almost just killed himself, and so all of these things combined make him say it. It comes out surprisingly easy. “I didn’t fall. This summer.”

The song playing now is one Evan doesn’t know, and it isn’t from Rent. It feels way too upbeat for this moment.

“You didn’t fall? What the absolute fuck does that mean?” Jared demands after a few seconds. But it sounds like he knows, so Evan doesn’t respond.

Evan is shivering even though the heater is on high. He feels the cold deep in his bones, and his fingers are trembling, and he’s numb all over.

Neither of them says another word until Jared parks in front of his house and gets out of the car.

“You’re staying over,” Jared lets him know, and then he’s opening the door for him and tugging him out by the arm, and Evan doesn’t register the hand on the small of his back, nudging him forward, until they get up to Jared’s room and it’s gone.

Evan hasn’t been here in a year. The last time they “hung out” at Jared’s was in early May, before final exams, and they stayed in the basement the whole time because that’s where Jared’s video games are. He can’t really remember the last time he was in this room, just knows that it was around Thanksgiving. Jared flicks a lamp on, and it’s hard to tell what’s different exactly in the dim lighting, but something has changed. Did he move the desk?

Jared is shoving some clothes into his hands. “Put these on.”

Evan blearily looks down at the sweatpants and T-shirt. “I don’t need—I’m fine with my—”

“For fuck’s sake, Evan, don’t fight me on this. I’m going to turn around and you’re going to change into those, and then we're both going to _sleep._ ”

Jared turns his back to him, arms crossed, and Evan waits a moment before taking off his clothes and changing into Jared’s in slow, jerky movements. It’s a testament to how incredibly out of it he is that he doesn’t even think twice about having to change in the same room as Jared.

He coughs quietly when he’s done, and then Jared turns back around, says firmly, “Stay here,” and leaves the room.

Evan notes that the sweatpants are loose on him, and then that’s all his brain is capable of thinking about until Jared returns, wearing pajamas as well and carrying some pillows and a giant comforter.

He drops it all on the floor unceremoniously, and tells Evan, “Go to sleep, we’ll talk later.” Then he takes his glasses off, sets them on the side table, and gets into his bed.

Evan is out like a light as soon as his head hits the pillow.

  


-

  


It’s past noon when he wakes up. His back hurts a little from a night of sleeping on the floor. Jared is up already, but he’s still in bed. He’s playing some game on his phone.

“He lives,” Jared says without looking away from it. Evan’s stomach churns. “Wait, shit, that was—I just meant like, you’re awake, not. Fuck, that was really bad timing.”

Evan doesn’t know how to respond, because he still feels awful, and because Jared hardly ever shows remorse like this for the dumb comments he makes. Evan reaches for his own phone, which is resting on top of one of the many pillows surrounding him. (Jared really went overboard. There are at least five.) He has six missed calls and three texts from his mom.

The timestamp on the first one is 1:16 AM. (She must have gotten home really late.) It reads, **Where are you??**

The second, sent twenty minutes later: **???**

Then, at 2:04: **Evan I’m really worried, call back ASAP.**

She called him at 1:14, 1:17, 1:26, 1:30, and then 2:01. And then 2:15.

“Shit,” he says. “My mom—my mom probably called the police last night, or something.”

“Nah,” Jared says calmly, eyes still glued to his screen. “I texted her after I picked you up.” Which Evan does not remember at all, but it must be true, because why else would she have stopped calling around that time? “From you. Here, look.”

He passes the phone down to Evan.

**Hey mom it’s Evan. jared and I went to a party and my phonw died, and then jared lost his for a while, which is why I couldn’t let ypu know where we were. I’m really sorry I know you’re probably really worried. I’m staying over at his tonight.**

It definitely isn’t the best lie. But it’s much, much better than anything Evan would have come up with, and definitely better than the truth of what happened last night, and Jared even went as far as to type the way he does—typos and all—to make it more believable. “This is—um. Thank you, Jared.”

Jared takes his phone back, but instead of going back to the game, he locks it and sits up fully in order to look down at Evan. “I have to say something. Don’t freak out.”

 _Tall order_ , Evan thinks. But oddly enough, he remains mostly calm, which must be due to the fact that none of this feels real to him, still.

“I’m sorry,” Jared says, and yep, this is definitely not real. “For a lot of things. I’ve been an ass to you, repeatedly, and I can’t really explain why, and there’s no excuse for it. And I’m sorry for that comment I made...at the beginning of the year. The acorn thing. And the like, ‘did you break it jerking off’ thing. It was stupid as fuck.”

“I didn’t think you remembered that,” Evan says.

Jared makes a hurt sort of sound. “Just, I’m _sorry,_ okay? You don’t have to say it’s okay, I just want you to know.”

“Okay,” Evan says after a moment. He tangles his hands in the comforter. “It is okay, though.”

“And—” Jared sighs. “God, I hate this so much,” he mutters under his breath. Then he says, “You know I’m like. Here for you?”

 _This isn’t actually happening,_ Evan’s brain says cheerfully. _You’re still asleep, probably. Dreaming._

What comes out of his mouth is, “I—Um.”

“I _know_ I haven’t given you any reason to believe that I am, but,” Jared’s turning his phone over in his hands. “I am now. Okay?”

And the way his cheeks are red, and the way that his glasses sit far too low on his nose make Evan believe suddenly that this _is_ really happening, all of it.

And he still wants to die. This doesn’t change that at all. He’s still cold, like the chill from last night has settled into his bones. But.

But an almost warmth is beginning to spread through his chest.

“Thank you, Jared. Really.” Evan sits up and looks at him, really looks at him. “You—you’re a good friend.”

Jared rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth are turned upwards like he’s about to smile. He throws back the covers and gets out of bed. “You want breakfast? We have those Eggo french toast sticks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was. heavy. and maybe even kind of sudden? but that's kind of how life works u know. things can get bad out of nowhere
> 
> also, this doesn't really matter that much, but I just wanted to clarify: in this fic, evan broke his arm in august (not may/june) and it was a severe fracture, which is why he has the cast on for so long
> 
> please leave kudos, comment (your thoughts, feelings, favorite parts, etc) and follow me on tumblr @jaredklein. also if you message me or send me asks on there (about literally anything!!) I'll love u forever
> 
> thanks for reading, and again, please take care of yourselves <3


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I know this is super short lol it's sort of a break between the last chapter and the next

Two days later, when Connor and Evan have plans to hang out, Connor ditches school, and then never shows up to Evan’s house afterward.

Evan is too tired to be mad about it (still recovering from the stupid thing he almost did two days ago), and also kind of worried—as usual. He texts him asking if everything is okay, and Connor replies:

**sorry got way too high earlier and didnt want you to see me like that again**

**let’s do tomorrow instead?**

**_Sure,_ ** Evan sends back, puzzled.

He makes some Rice-A-Roni for dinner, and finishes all of it even though he has to keep himself from gagging a few times. He knows he hasn’t been eating properly. When he checks his weight on the scale in the garage, it tells him that he’s lost around six pounds.

He should probably talk to Dr. Sherman about how the meds are making him lose his appetite.

(And also about how he almost jumped out of a tree again a few days ago.)

Connor isn’t at school the next day either. So Evan gets through his classes, eats lunch alone again, tries not to think about Captain America lunch boxes and how Zoe’s still avoiding him like the plague. _Which I sort of am,_ he supposes. _I hurt the people around me and I ruin everything I touch. And I’m gross._

He gets through the rest of his classes. Only thinks about killing himself a few times, in a tired and distant sort of way.

When he gets home, Connor is there on the porch. His car isn’t anywhere in sight, so he must have walked.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he says when he sees Evan. “I know I messed up again, I—”

“Jeez,” Evan says with a small smile. “Maybe you’ve been hanging out with me too much, because lately you’re starting to sound like me.”

Connor huffs, and one corner of his mouth ticks upwards a little. As Evan unlocks the front door, he says, “I just mean, like, I know you wanted me to do better and I _was,_ but then I went and got high again just because my dad fucking yelled at me and. Yeah.”

Evan turns around in the foyer to look at him, even more confused than he was before. “Wait, are you saying you haven’t—since the time we talked about Zoe?”

Connor furrows his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

Evan grins suddenly, happily, and Connor smiles back at him in a helpless sort of way. “I want you to do better for _yourself,_ not because _I_ said something, okay? Not because of—of _me_.”

Connor’s cheeks have turned red. Laughing, Evan starts up the stairs, motioning for him to follow.

“It’s okay if you, um, smoke every once in a while to deal with stuff, I think?” He continues once they’re in his room. “Just as long as you don’t let it become...your _main_ coping mechanism, or whatever.”

“That makes...sense, actually.” Connor wrinkles his nose. “When did you get so smart?”

“Since I started going to therapy once a week,” Evan replies easily. And they both laugh, and Evan nudges Connor’s arm and says, “I’m proud of you, dude.”

Connor looks at his feet, face completely red now. “Shut up,” he mumbles.

Evan grins again, and then goes to his bed, where his laptop sits, open. “You wanna watch a movie or something?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Connor says with enthusiasm, sitting down next to him.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe and Evan talk, plus some fun times with weed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: recreational drug use

“Come over for dinner tonight,” Connor says. It’s now a Wednesday in mid-November, and they’re sitting in the library at lunch. (The weather has officially become too cold for them to continue eating at their usual spot outside.) “My mom’s making that pasta thing you like.”

This makes Evan smile. “Okay. I’ll let my mom know.”

When he unlocks his phone, he sees that he actually missed a text from her, less than an hour ago.

 **Mom:** Hey sweetie I’m on my break and just wanted to check in since I didn’t get to see you this morning. I have class tonight. Pls make something for dinner, don’t just have ramen again :) Love you!

Evan frowns. What does she mean by ‘didn’t get to see you this morning’? He hasn’t seen her at all since Sunday night. When they very pointedly did not talk about how he basically went missing in the middle of the night on Saturday.

 **Evan:** Having dinner at Connor’s

 **Mom:** Ok, have fun!!! [heart emoji]

 **Evan:** [thumbs up emoji]

Connor offers to give him a ride home. (Actually, what he offers is for Evan to come home with him, so they can hang out until dinner.) After school, Evan goes to the Fine Arts hallway because he knows Connor’s last period is AP Studio Art, and he’s been working on a new project for a few days now, so he takes more time than usual to clean up and put his things away, and well, Evan doesn’t want to loiter in the parking lot waiting next to the car like a creep, so.

When he walks into the art room, there’s only a few other students packing up their things. It smells like pencil shavings and something sickly sweet. Connor is standing in front of the big windows at the back of the room. He has his earphones in, and a canvas board is laid out on the table in front of him—Evan can’t tell what it is from here, but there are a lot of green and yellow shapes, and the beginnings of what looks like a person. Connor doesn’t seem to have noticed that the bell has rung.

Evan moves closer, and Connor looks up, and then his eyes widen and he yanks out an earbud and _throws_ himself over the table. “Hey Evan,” he says, voice strained and much higher than usual as he spreads his arms wide to cover the painting.

“Um.” Evan can’t help but laugh. “Hey.”

“Can you turn around?”

“Sure?” Evan does, puzzled but amused, and then asks with his back turned, “What’s—what’s up?”

“I just—don’t want you to see this until it’s done. Let me put my stuff away really quick and then we can go.”

So Evan waits, and wonders about the green and yellow blocks of color until Connor is done cleaning up. He realizes that he’s never really seen any of Connor’s art—just quick glimpses of things in his sketchbook. And half-assed doodles on homework papers, but that doesn’t exactly count.

As Connor drives, Evan notices that he’s re-painted his nails. They’re all black again. It’s sort of a comfort to see.

When they enter the house, Zoe’s shoes are there by the door. Purple high-top Converse, with tiny smiley faces and stars scribbled on the white rubber parts. Evan takes one look at them and wants to run out, but—

Last week, when he almost killed himself, one of his immediate thoughts after he decided he couldn’t do it was that he had to fix things with Zoe. And that _means_ something, right?

He squares his shoulders. He can do this.

( _You can’t do shit,_ his brain tells him helpfully.

Which, well, maybe he can’t, but it doesn’t matter, he’s _going_ to.)

The entrance and living room smell really good. Evan sniffs a little, trying to figure out what it is—something citrusy?

“Mom’s really into essential oils now,” Connor explains, pointing to a glowing rectangular thing sitting on the coffee table. It’s plugged in, and there’s a white mist coming out of it. “She’s spent like hundreds of bucks on them within the last month alone. She got that diffuser last week. And one for my room, _and_ one for Zoe’s room. She’s convinced it’ll like, ‘improve the overall atmosphere of the house.’” He does air quotes.

Evan laughs. “What’s the verdict?”

Connor grins a little. “I don’t fucking know, feels the same to me. It smells pretty good though, so no one’s complaining.”

They make their way upstairs, and Evan hesitates at the top step, looking to his right. Zoe’s door is open, just a crack. He tugs at the hem of his shirt, twists his hands in it. “Is Zoe here? I had a—I wanted to ask her something about the—um. Project. For APES.”

He’s already aware that she’s home, and there’s no APES project to ask about, but Connor doesn’t know this. He shrugs, back turned to Evan as he goes into his own room. “Knock before you go in, she’s weird about that.”

Evan walks the three steps it takes to get to her room, feeling like he’s wading through water. It takes much longer than it should, and his legs weigh him down, and a voice in the back of his head is saying _stop don’t do it go back while you still can you’ll only make it worse,_ while a separate, slightly louder voice is going, _you have to do this, you can’t avoid each other forever, you have to do this you have to do this now._

He knocks twice.

“What?” comes Zoe’s voice from inside, too sharp. He winces a little.

“Um,” he says, hand on the doorknob, wanting more than anything to just run away. “It’s Evan?”

There’s a three-second pause. Then, “You can come in.”

He opens the door halfway, and then just stands there. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do at this point. _You really didn’t think this through,_ his brain says.

 _Well whose job was it to do that,_ he tells his _brain_ in reply.

Zoe’s room is clean, and decorated nicely. There are posters and pictures on the walls, stuck there with colorful tape, and she has string lights going all the way around the perimeter of the room. Her bed has a lot of pillows. (Like, so many pillows.) There’s a small cactus in a pot on her dresser, and next to it is a diffuser, identical to the one in the living room.

He doesn’t belong here. He’s an intruder in her space, and she’s sitting there on the bed with her guitar in her lap, and he just feels so incredibly guilty, and sorry—for being in this room, for telling her about his dumb crush on her, for any and every bad thing that’s ever happened to her, because she deserves so much better.

“I’m sorry,” they both say at the same time.

Evan blinks. She’s setting the guitar to the side, and she stares at him and says, “Wait, what?”

“I—I’m sorry?” He takes a step further into the room, and closes the door behind him. “For. Well. You know. I made you uncomfortable and I-I’m really sorry, I just thought…” He shakes his head, eyes on the floor. There is a shaggy, mauve colored rug covering most of the hardwood. “I don’t know, I just couldn’t stop myself from telling you and I know it was dumb of me, I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better I promise I don’t feel that way anymore and I actually—I actually like somebody else now so, um. But you don’t need to know that, sorry.”

“Are you serious?” Zoe says, and when he looks up, an open-mouthed smile is spreading across her face. “Evan, I wanted to apologize to _you_.”

_Which, what?_

He shakes his head again, at a loss.

She swings her legs over the side of the bed. “So I got a little uncomfortable. So what? I shouldn’t have _avoided_ you like that because of it. I mean, I went out of my way just to—not run into you in the hallways. God.”

“Um. I don’t know what to say to that, I’m—sorry.” Evan says lamely, wringing his hands. He wants to slam his head into a wall.

“You don’t have to say sorry,” she says, sounding kind of exasperated. Her eyebrows are raised, and she gestures with her hands when she speaks again. “You didn’t do anything wrong, dude. _I’m_ the one who’s sorry. It was all so...middle school of me. Which is funny, because that’s why I was so weird about it in the first place? I hate thinking about what I was like back then.”

“I’m—uh.” Evan swallows, having to stop himself from apologizing for the fourth time. None of this makes sense to him. He’s been telling himself for weeks that he fucked things up, and beating himself up about it so much, and now, when he tries to fix what he thought he ruined, she says he was fine the whole time. That it was her fault. Which _doesn’t make sense_ because how could anything be Zoe’s fault?

( _Maybe I need to worry more about not idolizing_ Zoe, _instead of Connor,_ he thinks distantly.)

“It’s—it’s okay, really. Don’t, um, worry about it.”

She’s grinning at him. “Okay. Cool.” Then she says, belatedly, “Hey, you got your cast off!”

He looks down. He left his jacket in Connor’s car, and his arm still looks sad and paler than it should be. He tries not to think about trees in the middle of the night, or the way the cold seemed to settle into his bones. He still feels the dull ache of it even now. “Y-Yeah.”

“Congrats.” The way she says this reminds him of Connor.

Evan’s smile is a little wobbly. He opens the door, and then pauses with it half open. “So we’re—we’re good?”

“We’re good.” And her smile makes him believe her, with all his heart. Not even his shitty brain can take this away from him.

_It was all just a weird...misunderstanding. Wow._

He feels like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. A small weight, but one that still makes a difference. Things with Jared are alright, things with Zoe are good, too, and Connor—Connor is waiting for him in his room, with a tree picture to show him when he walks in.

“Baobab,” Evan says, smiling easily. “Didn’t you say The Little Prince was your favorite book as a kid?”

“Where the Wild Things Are, but yeah, that one was a close second.” Connor scrolls, looking for another photo. “Why?”

“Baobabs were the trees that grew on his—on the prince’s planet.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “I mean, yeah, but it’s been a while since I last read it, and I don’t think they look like that in the book.”

Evan makes his way over to the bookshelf, scanning for the thin blue spine. When he finds it, he pulls it out and opens it. “Here.” Connor looks at him, bemused. “To compare.”

Connor flips through until he finds the page about the baobabs, and then they sit there on the bed, heads bent together, looking at the illustrations next to Connor’s phone, which has the photo of the real tree pulled up on Google Images. Connor begins to read quietly.

“‘So, following the little prince’s instructions, I have drawn the planet. I don’t much like assuming the tone of a moralist. But the danger of baobabs is so little recognized, and the risks run by anyone who might get lost on an asteroid are so considerable, that for once I am making an exception to my habitual reserve...You may be asking, ‘Why are there no other drawings in this book as big as the baobabs?’ There’s a simple answer: I tried but I couldn’t manage it. When I drew the baobabs, I was inspired by a sense of urgency.’”

Evan wonders, _why did I want to kill myself? I would have missed moments like these if I had._

(The contentedness he had as he walked out of Zoe’s room. The wonderful warm feeling he’s having now, with his leg touching Connor’s, and Connor’s laughter in his ear.)

 _Because moments like these exist, but they don’t last,_ his brain answers, and then Evan’s mood plummets again. Because it’s true, he feels good now but tomorrow? Hell, tonight, even? When he has to go home to that empty house again?

It doesn’t _last._ Even when he’s happy, he’s always waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under him. It’s self defense. You feel okay about your life, and then things immediately go to shit, and when this happens enough times, you have to learn not to be hopeful anymore. You start wondering if it’s _you_ —if you’re just incapable of true happiness, if you don’t deserve it, or if thinking you deserve it makes you unworthy of it.

It’s so tiring.

So he’s right back to where he was last week. Right back to where he was in August. Fucking _again._

 

 

_-_

 

The next day, he’s at the Murphy’s again for dinner. He’s trying to distract himself from everything in his head, and he’s found that the best way to do that is to stay out of his own house. Tonight, there’s vegetable stir-fry, and Evan takes big bites, finishing off his plate fast, and then he takes seconds. He’ll probably never get enough of this sort of thing—good, home-cooked meals. Meals that actually fill him up.

Halfway through Evan's second helping, Larry asks, “Evan, did you get a haircut?” and Connor suddenly goes rigid.

“Uh,” Evan says, because he didn’t, and he doesn’t know what’s going on but he knows it can’t be good, judging by the way Connor’s gripping his fork like a weapon, knuckles white.

“Let it go, Dad.”

“I haven’t said anything to you, Connor.” Larry’s attention is on his own plate, and he seems entirely unbothered.

Connor scoffs. “ _Yet._ ”

Larry sets his napkin down on the table. “I’m getting really sick of this attitude of yours. You have got to stop making things into such a big deal.”

Cynthia is in the kitchen—she’s been in there since right before Larry asked the haircut question. Evan looks towards the doorway desperately, like maybe if he stares hard enough, he can get her to come back in and save them from an argument. Zoe seems to be thinking the same thing. She’s sitting to his right, looking in the same direction, and she hasn’t touched her food in a while.

“Seriously?” Connor says, leaning forward, eyes narrowed in anger. “ _All week_ you’ve been making comments about how I need to cut my hair and shit, and then you ask Evan if he got a haircut even though he _clearly_ didn’t, and you just—” He makes a frustrated sound and pushes his plate away from himself. “Why are you _like_ this?”

And now Larry looks kind of taken aback. “I’m not trying to...It’s just a suggestion, Connor.”

“I like my hair,” Connor says, voice low.

“I just think that it would look better. Neater.”

“Oh my god, you _still_ don’t get it! You always—”

“That’s enough for now, I think,” Larry says firmly, cutting him off, and then he takes another bite of food.

Connor is furious. His posture is tight, and his fist is still clenched around his fork, and Zoe is radiating anger, too, and Evan doesn’t understand what it _is_ with this family. Everything seems to escalate so fast.

It seems like it’s because of built up tension, or something, from over the years, that they’ve never addressed, so they ignore the core of the issue, the things that actually really need to be talked about, and then they get mad at each other over little things like this. (Well, maybe not little to _them,_ but. Things that would seem small to an outsider. An outsider like Evan.) It all adds up until someone explodes. Usually Connor or Larry, it seems.

Connor looks over at Evan sharply. “You done?”

“Um.” Evan glances down at his plate, trying not to shrink into himself. “Yes?”

“Okay, come on,” he says, getting up, and then Larry is shaking his head with an exasperated, bitter sort of smile. Evan stands up after him, and they pass Zoe on their way out of the dining room—she’s still slumped in her chair, now staring at her glass of water like it's wronged her somehow.

“Wait here,” Connor tells him at the foot of the stairs, and then runs up to his room. He skips every other stair, and Evan watches his long legs go, stomach fluttering a little. Which, god, seriously? Now he’s getting butterflies over the way this boy _walks?_

Connor comes back down with a hoodie slung over one arm, and a bundled up T-shirt tucked under the other. He hands Evan the hoodie and then motions for him to follow.

They walk to the neighborhood park, which isn’t far from the woods. The sun has already set, and the sky is a watery, dark grey color, with no clouds. Connor makes his way over to the swings and sits in the mulch, and then he’s unwrapping the T-shirt. Inside it is a water bottle and a small Ziploc bag and an Altoids tin, and then he opens _that_ , and inside it is—

Well. There’s a little package that he thinks says “rolling papers” on it, and a BIC lighter, and Evan looks around as soon as he realizes what’s going on. There’s no one here, but he still feels uneasy about Connor _smoking weed_ in such a public place.

“I know we talked about this and like, not using it as an unhealthy coping mechanism, or whatever, but,” Connor sighs. “Just—don’t say anything about it right now, please.”

Evan takes a seat next to him. The mulch is uncomfortable, but it reminds him of being at recess with Jared, in elementary school. Those are mostly nice memories, so he stays put despite the wood chips poking him, and lets a little wave of nostalgia wash over him.

“I wasn’t going to,” Evan says quietly. He watches Connor rotate the joint as he lights the end. The lighter has Mickey Mouse on it.

“That’s for you to _wear,_ y’know,” Connor tells him, nodding towards the hoodie that’s still in Evan’s hands. “It’s cold.”

“Oh. I—Thanks.” He shrugs it on. Tries not to think too hard about how Connor thought to get a jacket for him before they left. Because he noticed that Evan wasn’t wearing one.

It’s Connor’s favorite black hoodie, with the faded elbows and fraying drawstrings. It smells like fabric softener and essential oils and weed. But. Now that he thinks about it, the weed smell might just be from the _actual weed_ that Connor is smoking next to him right now.

_Don’t freak out. Don’t make it weird. It’s not a big deal. He does this all the time. He knows what he’s doing._

But god, that smell is awful.

After a few minutes, Evan hears footsteps. It’s significantly darker out now, so it’s hard to tell, but there’s a figure coming towards them. “Connor, put it out,” he hisses, and Connor says, “Shit,” and fumbles and drops the lighter.

“Chill,” comes Zoe's voice. “It’s just me.”

She sits down in front of them, legs crossed.

“How’d you know we were here?” Evan asks, untangling his fingers from the bottom of his shirt. His palms feel sweaty.

“Connor always comes here to smoke. It’s a terrible spot, by the way. Literally anyone could see you.” She pauses, then says, “Pass that to me.”

Connor barks out a laugh.

She sets her jaw. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah, okay.” He says, rolling his eyes.

“Give me the _fucking_ joint, Connor,” Zoe says. It kind of looks like she’s on the verge of tears, but she sounds furious.

Connor hands it over, slightly wide-eyed. “You don’t—” He cuts himself off as she takes a drag. The action seems well-practiced, comfortable, like she’s familiar with it. Evan watches in awe and shock. “What the _fuck_ , since when do you smoke?” Connor demands.

“You don’t own the rights to smoking weed,” she tells him, and it comes out a little bit like a sigh. She takes one more puff and then hands it back to him. The smoke curls around her face.

“I can’t believe you,” Connor exclaims after a few moments. “All those times you gave me shit for doing this, when you do it too!”

“Fuck you,” Zoe says defensively. “I’m not a _pothead._ I just do it sometimes. When I’m stressed, or...I dunno. It helps.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Connor agrees quietly, “Yeah.” He takes a puff, then offers it to her again, and this time she squints at him before taking it.

Evan watches the exchange in silence. He feels so incredibly fond of both of them right now, like he just has so much love for them and he doesn’t know how he can hold it all in, and it swells happily in his chest. It’s a very strange feeling, and he thinks distantly, _love is a strong word_.

“Hey,” Zoe says after a couple more minutes go by with the two siblings passing the joint back and forth. She looks at Evan like she’s just now realizing or remembering that he’s there, which. Is something he’s pretty used to. “Hey, Evan, you should have some, here.”

And then he’s holding the brown, rolled up _thing_ in his hand, and stammering, “I-I don’t—I shouldn’t—um.”

Connor takes it from him. “You don’t have to,” he says gently. “Don’t peer pressure him, Zo.”

“Fuck you, it’s rude to not _offer,_ ” she says, and then suddenly she’s cracking up. “Fuck, though, can you imagine Evan high?”

“Don’t be an asshole,” Connor says, but he looks like he’s trying to hold back a laugh as he glances over at Evan.

Evan thinks, _Wow, okay._

Then he thinks, _Okay, fair._

And _then_ he thinks, _Fuck it. Fuck it, you’re a teenager, it’s okay if you smoke some pot one time._

He almost tried to kill himself again less than a week ago. This is not the worst thing he could be doing.

Cheeks warming, he sits up straighter and says, “Fine.”

Connor blinks. “Fine what?”

“Fine, give it to me. I-I wanna smoke with you.”

Zoe whoops loudly, and Connor shushes her, and then when she starts chanting, “Go Evan,” he reaches out and pushes her face away to get her to be quiet.

“Are you sure?” Connor says, and he’s looking at Evan like he’s searching for something in his face.

Evan nods earnestly. His heart is already racing at just the _thought_ of what he’s about to maybe do, but he’s not full-on panicking, so.

“Okay,” Connor says, shrugging as if to say _why not?_ He gives Evan the joint.

Evan stares at it. “Um—how—do I just—”

“So, okay, you have to inhale it. Um, don’t just, like, hold it in your mouth. You should feel it in your lungs. And then pause for a second, not too long, and exhale slowly.”

“Don’t freak out if it hurts,” Zoe tells him. “That’s pretty normal for the first time.”

“ _When_ it hurts,” Connor corrects her, and then Evan brings it up to his lips and breathes in before he can overthink everything.

He starts coughing almost immediately, and his throat burns and his eyes are so watery, and _god this was a terrible idea._ Zoe pounds on his back, even though he isn’t choking, so it doesn’t really help, and then Connor’s giving him the water bottle.

“That tastes even worse than it smells,” Evan wheezes.

“Drink,” Connor says between laughs, and Evan uncaps the bottle and takes a few sips, and then wipes his eyes. When the coughing has become subdued, Connor tells him, “Take one more hit if you want, and then you’re good.”

This time, Evan coughs significantly less, but his throat still feels like it’s on fire, and his chest hurts a lot. Oh, shit, his _meds,_ he remembers suddenly. _That’s why you’re not supposed to do this you fucking idiot, what if you_ die _because you mixed marijuana with the medication?_

His next thought is, _well, would that be so bad?_

Fuck, he needs to just—stop thinking.

It doesn’t hit him for a while. He’s starting to think that maybe it’s not going to have any effect at all, like maybe his brain is so broken that weed won’t work on him, or maybe the meds are cancelling it out or something, but then all of a sudden, all he can feel is his _heartbeat_ —like he doesn’t have a body, he’s not even a person, just a _heart_ , throbbing, pumping, beating hard and fast and loud.

“Guys,” he says.

“Oh shit,” says Connor, and then Evan hears Zoe laughing, and she sounds very far away, and time starts to feel ridiculous.

“Evan, you’re twitching, like. A _lot._ ”

He’s not sure who says this, or how long it’s been since any of them last said anything. He looks down at himself and registers that his shoulders are kind of jumping up and down, but he doesn’t stop himself. He laughs a little. And he’s not even self-conscious about how stupid he definitely looks right now, with his arms twitching wildly. And he feels more talkative than ever because he’s not worried about saying something embarrassing because he’s not even in his _body_ right now so why _should_ he be worried about something as tiny as that?

Time moves so slow. Each minute feels like an hour, because inside each minute, there’s sixty seconds, and then each of those sixty seconds has more minutes inside of it, and then each of _those_ minutes is broken down into seconds again and then milliseconds, and it just keeps _going._ And his thoughts are working like time does, which he knows doesn’t make sense but each of his thoughts has thoughts _inside_ of them, like the minutes and the seconds and the milliseconds.

“Connor,” he says, with effort.

“Yeah.”

“Time is a fucking— _illusion_.”

“I know, Ev.”

“Everything is fake. Nothing is real.”

“Yup.”

Then Evan tries to explain all the things he’s feeling, and talks through all of the thoughts he has going through his head, like saying them out loud will help him process all of it. And also, he just wants to _tell_ them, to share his thoughts with them.

“Like, time is fake because I’m experiencing it so differently right now than I usually do, and it’s making me think about how everyone must experience time differently, and that means there’s no true way of knowing how time is measured. Like one minute for me could feel super long but the same minute for you—you could think it went by really fast, y’know? So how can anyone know for sure how much time is...how much time?”

Zoe’s face is red with laughter.

Connor just nods seriously, and says, “Evan, you’re making no sense right now but also...so much sense.” He flops backward onto the ground, next to where Zoe is laying, and they all stare up at the night sky. Then Connor adds, “We should start, like, a philosophy club.”

Zoe shakes her head solemnly. “Alana already started that. Freshman year.”

Connor snorts, and Zoe nudges him hard with her elbow, and he nudges her back just as hard, and then he says something Evan can’t hear, and she grins at him, eyes bright.

Soon—or _not_ soon, Evan doesn’t know anymore—Connor sits up and brushes himself off. He checks the time on his phone, and then says, “Alright guys, time to go. Evan, you’re sleeping over, your mom’s gonna freak if she sees you like this.”

 _She would if she were even home,_ the voice in the back of Evan’s head sing-songs. “ _Your_ mom’s gonna freak,” he mumbles.

Connor huffs a laugh and helps him up.

They go back to the house, and the lights are off, which means Cynthia and Larry must have gone to sleep. Zoe and Connor raid the pantry in the dark, and then they sneak upstairs as quietly as possible. Zoe goes to her room, and Evan follows Connor into his.

“I’m gonna leave these here, for when we get hungry,” Connor whispers loudly, dumping the snacks onto his bed. He sort of collapses onto the floor, dragging his blankets and pillows off of the bed as he goes, and then says, “Get down here, dude.”

So Evan lays down too, and Connor throws half of a blanket over him.

Evan feels a strong urge to crack his knuckles, so he does. It’s incredible and weird—he feels the bones crack, but it’s a disconnected feeling, like he’s drifting out of his own body as he does it. And then he cracks his back and his toes, too. It’s a very loud sound in the quiet room.

Connor turns to face him. “Gross,” he says. But he’s grinning, and he sounds almost gleeful. Evan’s heart melts.

There are glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. “Those are nice,” Evan murmurs, pointing. He used to have some in his own room, until he got those plug-in night lights when he was eight, and took them down.

“My mom put them there. I used to count them until I fell asleep.”

Evan pictures little Connor, with his short hair and dimples and ears too big for his face, staring up at his ceiling in wonder. Pictures Cynthia tucking that boy into bed.

“I kind of want to hold your hand,” Evan tells him, and he’s so high that the voice in his head doesn’t even have anything to say about this. There are no sirens going off, there is no, ‘ _you idiot loser fuck-up why do you even bother opening your mouth ever.’_

It’s _so nice._ He wonders if this is what it feels like to not have anxiety.

“Then do it,” Connor says quietly, like a challenge.

So Evan reaches over for his hand and takes it, and then Connor laces their fingers together.

And Evan's hand isn’t sweaty at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! the boys held hands!!!
> 
> so I'm posting chapters 16 and 17 at the same time because I waited a while after posting 15 and there were a lot of great comments and ppl sending me asks on tumblr and that was super nice so!! enjoy
> 
> as always, please leave kudos, comment your thoughts, feelings, feedback, favorite parts (!!! I love when ppl do that) etc and follow me on tumblr @jaredklein


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: mentions of drug use, dissociation tw, emetophobia tw (there's a brief mention of throwing up)
> 
> sorry I never know what to put here so if anyone thinks of anything that should be put in the chapter warnings (like, for any chapter) just lemme know and I'll get right on it

Evan dissociates for about two days after he gets high.

It scares the shit out of him, and he decides he’s never going to do it again, because he already has _enough_ things to deal with in his brain, even without the idea that his mind and body are completely separated and he’s not in control of anything he does at all. It scares him so much, in fact, that he doesn’t go to school, and after a few hours of feeling like this, he tries to make himself throw up—as if maybe that’ll get the drugs out of his system and make him better.

It doesn’t work. He just sort of dry-heaves in front of the toilet for an hour, and then his throat hurts, so.

He reads a bunch of weed forums online, trying to figure out what to do. A lot of people seem to agree that when they get too high, if they just sleep a lot afterward, or eat a big meal, they’re fine.

He has a text from Connor asking him if he’s okay. So he replies and lets him know what’s going on, even though after he does, he wants to hide in his bed for a few years, because it’s all so _embarrassing_ , and Connor is going to judge him because he can’t handle fucking _weed_ , which is supposed to make you chill, but it’s having the opposite effect on Evan. (Well, it _did_ make him chill, actually. At least, at first. It definitely did last night. It made him more talkative, and less worried, and it gave him the courage to hold Connor’s hand. But right now he feels so incredibly terrible that he forgets about all of that.)

 _It could just be that the meds are just now starting to interact with the marijuana, maybe?_ he thinks.

 **shit dude that sucks** , comes Connor’s reply. **maybe try sleeping it off?**

Evan takes a four-hour nap. But then he wakes up and can’t feel his sheets against his skin, and he still feels like he’s somewhere far, far away.

So then he asks Jared to bring him some food. He’d ask Connor, but he kind of doesn’t want to face him. He could probably walk to the nearest fast food place, but he doesn’t trust himself to not throw himself into oncoming traffic. Or, if he managed to make it there in one piece, he’d say something stupid to the cashier and they would immediately be able to tell that he _did drugs_ and then they’d call the cops and Evan would get arrested and his mom would be so disappointed in him and then he’d have to find a way to kill himself in his jail cell.

Jared drops off a Taco Bell bag on his way home from school. He doesn’t even question why Evan didn’t come today, or make comments on his appearance—Evan’s wearing an old Science Olympiad T-shirt from middle school, and he hasn’t showered, and his hair is a mess, and he definitely has bags under his eyes—mainly because he doesn’t stay for longer than a minute. “I’ve been putting off this AP Chem project for like two weeks and it’s due tomorrow sooo I really gotta jet.” On his way back to his car, which is parked in the driveway, he yells over his shoulder, “You owe me five bucks!”

Evan wolfs down the first burrito still standing on the porch. (Jared got it with beans instead of meat, which was nice of him to remember.) Then he goes inside and eats the second one in the kitchen. And then he finishes the box of stale cereal from the pantry, as well as all of the granola bars they have left, and drinks two glasses of water. And then he heads up to his room, sluggish, and gets into bed. He’s not hungry anymore, and seeing Jared helped the tiniest bit, but other than that, he still feels the same.

He sleeps some more. His mom wakes him up sometime in the evening—his room is dark, and out the window, the sun is setting. She’s in her pink scrubs. Her hands are on her hips.

“Why did I get a call saying you didn’t go to school today?”

Evan wants to pull the covers over his head and cry, or go back to sleep.

“I—I wasn’t feeling well. I’m sorry.”

Frowning, she presses her hand to his forehead. “You do feel a little warm…Did you eat anything for dinner?”

He swallows. “I had a big lunch.”

The wrinkles on her forehead deepen. She takes a seat on the edge of the bed, and reaches out to brush his hair back. It makes his eyes water a little, and a lump rises in his throat, because he misses her _so much_ , and he wishes, desperately, that he could come up with something to say to her.

But he can’t think of anything. He can’t really feel his body, _still._

His mom sighs and gets up. “Next time just let me know, okay? Give me a call. And then I can tell the school you had an appointment or something, so you don’t get any more unexcused absences.”

“Okay,” Evan says, voice small, and then she goes to her room.

By the next day, Evan feels much, much better—he’s not dissociating anymore, and he kind of wants to run a marathon. Instead, he goes for a walk in the park, and texts Connor a photo of a particularly insignificant tree. Then he texts Alana about the assignments he missed, and then Jared, too, to thank him for the Taco Bell.

His life is so...unreal.

  


-

  


Connor has started to be a lot more physically affectionate with Evan.

Like.

In the hallways, he’ll sort of lean into Evan’s shoulder, or his knuckles will brush against Evan’s almost as if it’s on purpose. And he touches Evan’s arm a lot, when he’s trying to get his attention or something. One time he pats Evan on the shoulder and then just _leaves his hand there_ for a good minute.

Evan wonders if it’s because of the hand-holding that night. If so, he’s really, really glad he did it. He hadn’t realized until now just how...touch-starved he is. For his entire life, his mom has basically been his only access to hugs. And he hasn’t gotten to hug her in a long while. So.

It’s kind of embarrassing how he practically melts every time Connor touches him, but he could get used to it.

 _You shouldn’t_ , that voice in the back of his head nags. But then Connor is there, tipping his weight sideways onto Evan as he laughs, and the noise in his head gets quieter even if it’s just for a bit.

  


-

  


Alana and Jared approach the two of them in the library one day. “You’re not supposed to eat in here,” Alana informs them.

Connor, holding eye contact with her, steals a chip from Evan and pops it into his mouth with a loud crunch. Evan holds back a laugh.

“What’s up?” Evan asks. They’re seated on the floor between the language section and the math and sciences section, and he scoots over a little so Alana and Jared can sit down too. His thigh touches Connor’s.

“Well,” Alana begins, clasping her hands together.

Jared says, “So we were thinking—”

“Shit, I hope you didn’t pull a muscle or something,” Connor cuts in.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jared says, rolling his eyes. “We were _thinking_ —”

This time it’s Alana that interrupts him. “We were thinking since the two of _us_ are acquaintances, and Zoe and I are friends—and Evan, Jared is friends with you, and you’re friends with Connor, who’s like, _literally_ Zoe’s brother...all of us should make plans together sometime! It’s really a wonder that none of us thought of it before.”

“The—Since when have you and Jared been friends?” Evan asks, eyebrows furrowed. He tries to remember a time when he saw Jared and Alana together (aside from that one time at Evan’s locker, and then at their little Not Party the day after), and nothing comes to mind.

“Acquaintances,” Alana corrects. Then, expression hopeful, she asks, “Well what do you think?”

Evan looks at Connor, who shrugs one shoulder. “Could be fun,” Connor says, even though Evan knows they’re both remembering the Not Party and how incredibly awkward that was. Then, directed at Alana, he mumbles, “Zoe keeps bugging me about getting to know you better. So.”

“Awesome!” She says a little too loudly, and then seems to remember where she is and lowers her voice to a stage-whisper. “Awesome.”

“I’ll make a group chat,” Jared announces, already on his phone. Not even a minute later, all of their phones vibrate. Connor pulls his out, and Evan looks over at the screen.

**[Unknown number] has added you to “squad”**

“How do you even have my number,” Connor says, eyes narrowed.

“I have my ways.”

“I’ll text you guys later, and we can make plans,” Alana says, swinging her backpack over her shoulder as she stands up. She smiles at them one more time. “This is gonna be so fun!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> evan's first time getting high is based on my own experience lmao be responsible kids! and don't mix ur meds with other drugs!!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang hangs out.

**Alana:** Hey guys it’s Alana! I’m trying to coordinate a place and time for us all to hang out. How does the mall sound?

 **Evan:** not to be the person who ruins it but I don’t do that great in crowded places amd the mall is always super busy...could we maybe do something else?

 **Evan:** IMm really sorry

 **Evan:** I’m*

 **Connor:** i second that, the mall is overrated

 **Connor:** no offense alana

 **Alana:** That’s totally fine!!

 **Alana:** My dads are going to be out of town this weekend. You could all come over?

 **Zoe:** that sounds really fun!!! :)

 **Jared:** ya sounds good my dude

 **Evan:** Yes that sounds fun, thank you :-)

 **Jared:** can we get pizza

 **Alana:** Sure!

 **Zoe:** woohooooo, pizza party! [pizza emoji] [pizza emoji] [party popper emoji]

 **Evan:** Jared do you ever eat anything other than pizza

 **Jared:** ur one to talk, evan “ate pizza lunchables for literally every single meal for the entirety of first grade” hansen

 **Connor:** omfg

 

-

 

Alana’s house is somehow exactly what Evan thought it would be like, and yet at the same time, it’s nothing he ever could have pictured.

It’s located at the end of a cul-de-sac in a huge neighborhood near the orchard. Next to a tree in the front yard, there’s a sign with their school’s logo and mascot on it. Connor rolls his eyes at it as they walk into the house.

Just past the entrance is a large glass case filled with trophies, medals, newspaper clippings. Basically everything Alana has achieved throughout middle and high school is in there. It’s incredible. Evan knew that Alana runs Social Justice Club, started Philosophy Club, and is the president of Spanish Honor Society and the vice president of Math Honor Society, and knew that she’s part of lots of other things, but this…

“I guess I never really thought about, like. How _much_ she does,” Connor voices next to him quietly, staring at a debate trophy in awe. Next to it, there’s a framed certificate for a Girl Scouts Gold Award.

“You started the recycling program at our school?” Jared asks. Evan follows his gaze to a photo of Alana with the environmental science teacher, Mr. Ansari. In it, she looks younger, maybe a sophomore, and she’s holding up a recycling bin with a smug look on her face.

Alana just smiles proudly at Jared in response.

The girl is nonstop. Evan kind of can’t look at the case anymore—it’s making him feel uneasy.

They follow her into the living room, where there are framed photos covering an entire wall. It’s like the wall by the stairs at the Murphys’, but on acid.

“What the...” Jared mutters. Zoe, already moving towards the couch, narrows her eyes at him.

Some of the photos are of Alana, and the rest are of the same two men together. _They must be her dads_ , Evan thinks. Then he thinks, _who else would they be, dumbass, why would they put pictures of two random guys everywhere?_

Neither of the men look anything like her. “I’m adopted,” she explains, before anyone can ask. Or...Not Ask, because they’re all too scared to, with the way Zoe is giving them looks like _if you say anything rude to her, I’ll murder you._

“Hey,” Jared says, voice strained like he’s trying to change the subject. He points to Alana’s letterman jacket, which is draped over the back of the couch. “I ordered mine at the end of last year! Do you know when I’m supposed to get it?”

Connor sort of scoffs, dropping down into an armchair as Evan takes a seat next to Zoe. “What’d you do that qualified _you_ for a letterman?”

“I’m on the Robotics team, dick, _and_ I’m in Science Honor Society,” Jared shoots back defensively. “And theatre.”

“Jesus, is everyone in this fucking group a math or science nerd except for me?” Connor mutters. Then he looks up, eyes wide. “Holy fuck, wait, _theatre_ , are you serious?”

“Yes, and I refuse to be embarrassed about it. Evan was a total theatre kid, too, so.”

Evan feels his face heat up, and he shrinks into himself even more as they all swivel to look at him.

“ _Really?"_  Connor is grinning with delight.

“Yeah, we were in classes together for a while,” Jared says. Then his brow furrows. “Wait, but then you just disappeared, around like, fifth grade.”

Evan remembers it all very clearly. After his dad left, his anxiety began to steadily worsen. He stuck with theatre for about two more years, until he absolutely couldn’t take it anymore. He was bringing himself to tears in class, throwing up at rehearsal, begging his mom every day to let him skip. It was a mess.

“I was—I liked it but then my anxiety got really bad and having to perform made it, just—through the roof,” Evan says, giving a nervous laugh. “So I tried tech crew for a while but I was somehow worse at that, so...I quit. But I was still really into musicals and stuff, so I was just like? A theatre kid who wasn’t even in theatre. Um. Super dorky.”

“That is so cute,” Zoe says. “Now I’m imagining a tiny Evan as like, a newsie.”

“He was Peter Pan in the elementary school’s production of Peter Pan,” Jared informs them, and she and Alana both make chinhands and look absolutely delighted to hear this _._ Then he asks, “Does that mean you’ve seen Newsies?”

She shrugs, fidgeting. “We visited New York one time and our parents took us to see it.”

They continue talking, and Evan turns his attention on Connor, who’s picking at his nails. “How old were you?”

“What?”

“When you guys went to New York?”

“Oh. Uh. Like ten, maybe?”

“Did you like it?” Evan asks, because he wants to know—wants to know more about every new thing he learns about Connor. Wants to know everything about him.

“Fuck, I dunno,” Connor mumbles. “I don’t really—remember any of it. There was, uh, a lot going on.” When Evan gives him a confused look, he changes the subject. “So what’s your favorite musical, Theatre Kid Hansen?”

Evan laughs. “Um—that’s a hard question.”

“Not like we don’t have time,” Connor says, pointedly glancing around the room. Jared, Alana, and Zoe are deep in conversation. “Come on. _One_ of your favorites.”

Evan thinks for a few moments. “I—okay. There’s this one that I like called Next to Normal?”

“What’s it about?”

He hesitates. “Um, so there’s this family, and the mom is mentally ill, and it’s like—how it affects them all, and—and stuff. And it’s kind of depressing, but…”

“Hey, sometimes depressing shit is good. Like, cathartic.” Connor makes a face, like he doesn’t know why he’s saying this, and then coughs awkwardly.

Evan likes him so much.

“Yeah," he agrees. When he looks away from Connor, he sees that they’re now alone in the living room. “Uh...”

“Guys, come on!” Zoe’s voice calls from the hallway, and she says it like a question, in that way she sometimes does. Evan really likes the way she talks. “We’re gonna make a cake.”

Connor exchanges an amused look with him, and then they get up and find the kitchen—their shoulders bump together as they go—where their Sort Of Friends are gathering baking ingredients.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if updates are getting a little more sporadic. it might just feel that way to me though because I'm in the middle of writing like two other fics right now. because I like to suffer apparently (I'm kidding,,, writing about evan n connor is my favorite form of escapism)
> 
> I think I'm gonna stick to the vague schedule of like. posting two chapters at once every few days? that seems to be working best, especially because my chapters are usually pretty short
> 
> thanks so much for reading!! as always, please leave kudos, comment, etc and follow me on tumblr @jaredklein!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drama in the Hansen household. Connor wants to go to art school.

Evan wakes up one morning to his mom speaking in hushed tones. She’s on the phone. He leaves his room silently, early morning light throwing the hallway into blue-ish shadow, and he’s going to go downstairs but then he hears his name, and he can’t help but pause by her bedroom door. It’s open just a crack, and so he listens.

“Oh, seriously?” His mom is saying, and he flinches at her tone. It’s the one she uses when she’s really mad. She’s laughing a little, too. Not a good sign. _You shouldn’t be eavesdropping,_ he tells himself, but he stays put, feet glued to the floor. “You call after how long, and expect me to—” She makes a frustrated sound as whoever’s on the other end cuts her off, and then she says heatedly, “Don’t give me that.”

There’s a long pause. When she speaks again, she’s even quieter than before.

“I get it,” she says with a heavy sigh. “Okay? But Evan’s—he can’t handle this right now.”

Evan’s brow furrows. He resists the urge to crack his knuckles, because it would be loud and she would hear it and find out that he’s listening in on her conversation. Instead, he chews furiously on the inside of his cheek, clenching his fists at his sides.

“What the hell does _that_ mean?” His mom hisses. A pause. “No, but—” Another frustrated sound, another long pause. “You’re not—you're not _listening_ to me. He’s going through a lot right now. He _can’t handle it._ ” A short pause, and then she laughs again bitterly. “Well, you should have thought about that a long fucking time ago.”

She’s talking to his dad, Evan realizes, a sort of chill running down his spine, and then he takes two huge steps away from the door, jerking backward as if he’s been burned. He’s clumsy. He knocks into the banister and barely stops himself from tripping and tumbling down the stairs.

His mom opens the door all the way. She’s in her scrubs—the ones with the tiny yellow butterflies on them. “I’ll call you back,” she says into the phone. Then, “Actually, you know what? I probably won’t.”

She hangs up. Evan would be impressed if he weren’t so mad all of a sudden. “Was that—Dad?” He asks, voice wavering.

His mom looks at him warily. “I—” She starts, then stops. Her hands sort of sway at her sides. She’s holding the phone tightly. “Yeah.”

“What did he want,” Evan says, not really a question. He straightens up, and his back protests a little—used to his terrible posture.

“Do you want to talk about this downstairs?” She asks cheerfully. “I can make pancakes for brea—”

“No, I-I want to talk about it now,” he interrupts, surprising himself a little.

Her fake cheer is gone just like that. “Okay, um.” Her mouth twists. “He wants you to visit. Probably during Christmas break.”

Evan doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. His head spins. “He—what?”

“It’s okay, Evan,” she says, stepping closer. “I told him it’s probably not the best idea.”

“Why would he want me to—” Evan cuts himself off, because that’s a loaded question. “Why did he call you?” He asks instead, even though he knows. His dad is a shitty parent. (At least, to Evan. He can’t speak for the other two kids his dad has.) He calls Evan very rarely. Less than once a year, probably. “Why didn’t he call _me_?”

The wrinkles near her mouth deepen as she frowns. “I’m sorry, honey,” she tells him, shaking her head.

Evan, feeling bold, keeps going. “Why did you tell him I—that I can’t _handle_ …” He trails off, grips the banister tightly. “Is that how you see me?”

“What?” She says, brow furrowed. “Evan.”

“Yeah, it is, that’s how you see me,” he says quickly, staring down at his feet. “Like I’m—I’m some—like I’m fragile, or—”

“Evan, that’s not—”

"Or broken—"

" _No—"_

“I’m your kid who’s so broken you—you think he can’t even make his own decisions—”

“What do you want me to say, Evan?” She says suddenly, voice too loud. “I mean, jeez, _look_ —look at you!” She gestures vaguely at him, and fuck, that _hurts_ even though he knows how he probably looks, with the way he’s clutching the banister and the way he’s trembling with anger and his face is definitely really red.

 _He_ knows he’s a mess but god, his _mom_ isn’t supposed to think so too.

His chest feels awfully tight. There isn’t enough air in his lungs. “It’s not your choice to make!” He says, matching her volume. “You—you should have asked me first, at least!”

Her shoulders slump tiredly.

“Sorry,” he says, blinking fast. He starts backing away. This is all so _stupid_. He shouldn’t have eavesdropped, he should have acted like he didn’t hear anything when she came out of the room, he shouldn’t have said anything to her about it. This is what he gets for being bold, for once.

He doesn’t even _want_ to visit his dad.

When he goes to his room, his mom doesn’t follow. A few minutes later, he hears her footsteps as she goes downstairs. About ten minutes after that, the front door opens and closes, and then the house is quiet and empty all over again, and it’s just Evan in the corner of his bedroom, having a panic attack.

 

-

 

It snows.

While the cold weather puts Connor in a better mood (for the most part), it makes Evan irritable and cranky, and prone to snapping at people when he doesn’t mean to. The seasonal depression, on top of his _regular_ depression, as well as all the stuff going on between him and his mom—and his fucking dad, now, too—weighing on him, is not fun at all.

It makes his anxiety even worse, too. The tight feeling in his chest never really goes away these days, and his breathing is too shallow all the time, and his stuttering has reached new heights.

And on top of the stuttering, his lisp has started to come back a little, and he draws out his S’s without meaning to, and it all just makes him want to never speak to anyone ever again, so he tries to stay quiet as much as he can.

He wants to die.

It’s mid-November. It’s a Thursday, and he has therapy at four.

Connor does not look so good today.

His hair is lank and much messier than usual, and it looks like he hasn’t showered in a few days, and actually, there are bags under his eyes, too, and his clothes hang off of him in a sad sort of way. Like they don’t fit him right, like he’s uncomfortable in them. Or, more accurately, uncomfortable in his own skin. Uncomfortable with his very existence.

Evan gets all of this just from _vibe_ Connor’s giving off, so. It’s pretty bad. (His depression is showing, basically.)

Evan is pretty okay at functioning even when he gets like that—mainly because of his anxiety. His depression will try to keep him from showering and brushing his teeth, but then the anxiety kicks in like, _“If you don’t shower you’re going to smell bad and if you don’t brush your teeth your teeth will be gross and yellow and your breath is gonna smell and people will notice and they’ll talk about you and you’ll become The Guy Who Smells Bad.”_ His depression will try to keep him from eating, make him lose his appetite or say he doesn’t deserve to eat, and then the anxiety goes, _“If you don’t eat then your stomach will make embarrassing noises in the middle of class when it’s dead silent and everyone will hear it and laugh at you.”_

“You okay?” Evan asks timidly.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Connor mutters, pushing his hair away from his face impatiently. He’s flipping quickly through his copy of The Importance of Being Earnest like he’s looking for something, His hands shake a little.

“Okay,” Evan says, and he doesn’t want to push, but he can’t stop himself. _You have no fucking filter,_ his brain says, _do you_ ever _shut your mouth?_ “Do you—um. I know you said you’re fine but I’m just letting you know that I’m here if you wanna. Talk about it. Or just let me know what you need from me, because—because I’m here. Sorry. Say the word and I’ll let it go but I just want you to know that, so…” His voice trails off embarrassingly.

Connor opens his mouth, then closes it. He looks like he wants to say something, but then he just. Doesn’t.

The bell rings for Econ to start.

They have a test today. Evan keeps glancing over at Connor, who hasn’t opened his test packet. He doesn’t even have a pencil out.

There’s a loud sigh from the front of the classroom. “Evan,” Mr. Smith says, shuffling some papers, “if you’re going to cheat, at least look at the test of someone who has better grades than yourself.”

“What?” Evan exclaims, cheeks flaming. “I wasn’t—” Half the class is looking at him and Connor. Connor, who keeps his head bent, eyes on his paper. His cheeks are red, and his knuckles are white against the desk.

Evan feels a huge surge of protection towards him, and anger on his behalf.

He finishes his test in ten minutes and hands it to Mr. Smith with as much of that anger as he can possibly convey. _You’re the worst,_ he screams at him in his mind. _You’re a terrible teacher and no one in this room respects you._ Connor turns his in after the bell rings, and there’s still nothing written on it, not even his name.

He doesn’t walk Evan to his next class. He just mumbles something about not wanting to be late to English and disappears into the crowded hallway. Evan frowns, shoulders hunched as he stands in front of the door to Econ, trying not to feel hurt. Connor is rightfully upset. If he doesn’t want to be around Evan right now, that’s okay.

Evan thinks about it for hours. He wishes there were something he could do.

Zoe, Alana, and Jared sit with them at lunch now. When he and Connor approach their table in the library, Zoe gives them both a wary look. “Why do you guys look so mad?”

Evan is furious again immediately. “Fucking—Mr. Smith—”

“Woah,” Jared says, eyes going wide, as Connor mumbles, “Evan, let it _go._ ”

“Let _what_ go?” Zoe asks.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Connor says as he sits down next to Alana, whose expression matches Jared’s, reusable wooden spoon in her hand. (Because of course she doesn’t use plastic products, because she is environmentally conscious about everything and would never contribute to the throw-away society, and is just, in general, an amazing human being.)

Evan sits down. “Mr. Smith accused me of cheating off of Connor, and he was like, ‘If you’re gonna cheat then you should at least cheat of off someone who—’”

“Basically he announced to the whole class that I have shitty grades,” Connor states, fidgeting with the pins on his bag.

“What a dick,” Jared says. Connor gives him an unimpressed look.

Alana’s brow is furrowed. “Teachers can’t just— _do_ that.”

“You’ve _had_ Smith, right?” Jared asks. She nods, making a face, and he raises his hands in a gesture like, _right?_ “Yeah, he’s nuts. He doesn’t give a shit about anything.”

“He’s a terrible teacher,” Alana agrees. When Jared sort of snorts, she says, “What? He’s _creepy._ ”

“I’ve heard about him. He’s the one who makes super misogynistic comments all the time, right?” Zoe chimes in. “He told Maya—my band friend who graduated last year—that she should wear more modest clothes because she might ‘tempt her male peers.’” She makes air quotes and frowns. “She was wearing a tank top. Not that it matters anyway, but like, come on.”

“He gave me a D on the essay I wrote on capitalism, just because I said that it’s an awful system that requires the uneven distribution of wealth, encourages greed, and—” Alana stops to take a deep breath, squaring her shoulders with a smile. “Sorry, I got a little carried away. Mr. Smith is the worst.”

“That was a close one,” Jared says, laughing. He pops a chip into his mouth. “Remember your rant on corporate personhood in APUSH last year? There was like, steam coming out of your ears.”

“You were in my history class?”

“Alana Beck, I am _offended._ ”

“The worst part about it,” Connor says quietly, gritting his teeth, “is that I have a fucking _B_ in his stupid class. I’m not even close to failing. I’m doing _good._ ”

Only Zoe and Evan hear him, because Alana and Jared are discussing something else now. Zoe frowns, and Evan wishes for the sixth or so time today that there were something he could do to help.

“I’m sorry,” Zoe tells Connor, somewhat awkwardly, like she’s still not really used to talking to her brother if they’re not yelling at each other. She has a veggie wrap and a cup of fruit for lunch today, but she hasn’t touched any of it. “I know you’re having a rough day, especially with dad this morning and—”

Connor looks uncomfortable. “Thanks.”

Evan is out of the loop again. “What happened with your dad this morning?” he asks.

“Uh, it was really fucking dumb,” Connor says, still looking down at his bag, jaw clenched. “He threatened to take my art stuff away.”

“What? Why?”

Zoe speaks up again. “He thinks Connor spends too much time drawing, and that he isn’t serious enough about ‘subjects that actually matter.’” She does air quotes. “Like, academic stuff. Which is _so_ stupid, because he never says anything to _me_ about jazz band—”

“That’s because he knows you’re not gonna be a musician, like, as a career,” Connor says.

She lifts her chin. “He doesn’t _know_ that, and neither do you. Who’s gonna stop me if I am?”

Connor just stares at her, arms crossed.

“The arts are just as important as like, law and engineering and business and all that crap,” Zoe continues seriously. “If you wanna be an artist, he should support that.”

“You want to be an artist?” Evan asks, trying not to let his surprise show on his face. He doesn’t know what he thought Connor was going to do career-wise, but now that he thinks about it, he realizes that for some reason, whenever the subject of college or the future comes up, Connor steers the conversation away from himself and asks Evan more about what _he_ wants to do.

“Illustrator,” Connor mumbles in response.

“He wants to go to art school,” Zoe adds, and this is such a wonderful piece of information that Evan almost can’t contain his many feelings upon hearing it. He’s grinning a little.

Connor shrugs, cheeks going pink. His hair is in his face, and Evan wants to reach out and brush it away. “Whatever. It’s not even gonna happen, so.”

“If you actually _apply_ , it _will,_ ” Zoe says, looking frustrated. “You’re really good. They’re gonna accept you.”

Connor shrinks further into himself, and says again, “Thanks.”

Evan wants to contribute more to the conversation, but he realizes again that he’s never actually _seen_ any of Connor’s art, so.

There is nothing he wants more right now than to just—take that sketchbook from Connor’s bag and _look_ , or go into the art room, open up Connor’s assigned drawer, and find that piece he’s been working on that he still won’t show Evan. If art is a big part of Connor’s life, which it clearly is if he wants to pursue a _career_ as an illustrator, then shouldn’t Evan, his closest friend, have seen some of his work by now?

 _There you go again with the “close friends” shit. You’re not even that close. The only reason you think you are is because you’ve never had real friends before now. What if it’s like Jared and he only tolerates you, because why would he want to be_ close _when he can keep his distance? You’re an anxious sweaty mess of a person. You’re not even a person. You’re like. A smudge. An anxious, sweaty smudge-y_ thing _who has a raging crush on him, which is so gross of you, you’re taking advantage of him, and you don’t know how you are but_ you are, _and he’s never going to like you back, and besides all that, are you even friends if he won’t show you his art?_

This sucks. This is bad. Evan might start spiraling again, over this _stupid little thing_ that isn’t even _about_ him.

_Who the hell cares if you haven’t seen some drawings?_

(He does. He cares very, very much.)

After school, Connor drives him home. Evan can’t stop thinking about the green and yellow blocks of color on that painting Connor was working on, and he can’t stop wondering if they’re really as close as he thought or if he just made it to be something it’s not, and—

“Are you...okay?”

Evan snaps out of it and looks at Connor like a deer caught in headlights, probably. “What?”

Connor glances over, brow furrowed, and says, “You’re, uh, breathing really hard?”

Which. Evan is. _Good going, dumbass, you were working yourself up without even realizing it,_ his brain says. _God, do you have_ any _self-awareness at all, you’re gonna have a panic attack in the front seat of Connor’s car? Are you trying to make that a thing that you do in fucking everyone’s car?_

 _I only had a panic attack in Jared’s car, it was just the one time, just a one-time thing, it’s not in_ everyone’s _car,_ Evan shoots back, and fuck, he is officially losing it, because now he’s having conversations with himself in his head.

He thinks he should schedule a sooner appointment with Dr. Sherman.

“Okay, you’re freaking me out now too. Should I pull over?” Connor asks. His concern is very cute but also _so unneeded,_ or it _would_ be so unneeded if Evan could be a functioning human for like two seconds of his life. Or just for the rest of this car ride. _Is that too much to ask?_

“No,” Evan says quietly, and his breathing is mostly evened out now. “Sorry, I’m good, um. Thank you.”

“Okay,” Connor says, drawing out the word. He looks unconvinced.

“Can I, um—your sketchbook?” Evan asks stupidly. He cringes, and cracks his knuckles, and wrings his hands. “I mean, can I see...Do you think I could see it? Like your drawings and—and stuff?”

“Oh,” Connor says. He makes a turn. It’s uncomfortably silent for a moment. “Uh, sure, if you want.”

Evan nods—he doesn’t know why, but he’s nodding and can’t stop. There are about a million thoughts going through his head.

“You can just—take it out of my—I don’t care—”

Evan reaches for Connor’s bag in the back seat and pulls out the sketchbook incredibly carefully, like it’s a newborn baby or lost treasure or something. He doesn’t know what to do at this point. Is he supposed to just  _open_ it? That feels too small. This sketchbook in his hands is too important to just—

 _Shut up, stop being fake deep,_ he tells himself, and then lifts the cover.

Most of the pages contain portraits in pencil and pen—lots of bold lines and dramatic shading, and faces that are so expressive that Evan wants to get to know every one of these people. He doesn’t recognize any of the people on the beginning pages, and when he asks who they are, Connor says, “Uh. Just like, people from Pinterest and stuff that I thought looked cool or whatever.” His eyes are stubbornly fixed on the road, but his fingers tap restlessly against the wheel like it’s taking a tremendous amount of effort for him to keep himself from looking over at Evan.

“ _You_ have a _Pinterest_?”

Connor’s face goes red. “I—whatever,” he grumbles. “It’s just for like. Reference pictures and shit.”

Evan will grapple with that information later. He continues flipping through, and...

Well. There’s a surprising amount of drawings of Evan.

And some of Zoe, in the more recent pages, and a few of Alana. There’s also an ugly scribbled thing with glasses that Evan is positive was meant to be Jared. “This one’s my favorite,” he says, grinning sheepishly, and Connor finally looks over to see what he’s talking about, and the car swerves a little, and Evan squeaks, “Connor, the _road—_ ”

“Sorry, sorry,” Connor mutters, then stares pointedly ahead.

Evan finishes looking at the rest, and then goes back to the first page and starts again. They’re all so _good,_ and he can’t get over the fact that half the sketchbook is just drawings of _him._ The most recent sketch is of him. There are pages and pages of  _just_ him. There is so much Evan in here. Evan in the orchard, sitting in the grass. Evan under the tree at their old lunch spot. Evan next to Zoe. Her mouth is open like she’s in the middle of saying something, and he’s looking at her kind of like she hung the stars in the sky. There’s one that he especially likes, where he’s staring off to the side with the barest hint of a smile. He’s wearing a hoodie in it that looks suspiciously like Connor’s favorite one, the one that Evan borrowed that night in the park.

And the weirdest part about all of it is that he’s _not_ weirded out by all of it. He’s actually kind of...flattered, almost. Which is a something he rarely ever gets to experience, but he is, because he looks good in all of these. When he looks at himself in these drawings, he doesn’t want to punch himself in the face or rip all his hair out. He doesn’t feel bad about himself at all.

If this is how Connor sees him, it’s. Really nice.

“These are _amazing_ ,” Evan says as he closes the sketchbook, holding it tightly. There’s something big and happy swelling in his chest, and something fluttering behind his ribcage. “You’re—you’re really talented, Connor.”

“Thanks,” Connor mumbles, looking over at him for the briefest of seconds. His cheeks are still pink.

“I mean it,” Evan says with feeling, trying to put all of the things he’s feeling into his tone. Trying to convey how much he loves all of it. “I knew you were good, but these are—this is all _awesome_. I’m like, speechless, that’s how good you are.”

“Shut up.” The corners of Connor’s mouth quirk up, just barely.

“One day you’ll be famous and I’ll get to tell people, like, ‘I knew Connor Murphy in high school!’”

“Shut up,” Connor says again, and now he’s smiling for real, and his whole face scrunches up with it, and his dimples are making an appearance and there are crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and Evan thinks,  _wow, I’m so fucked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi sorry for the long wait!! I've been super busy lately but things are getting back on track now I hope
> 
> kudos and comments are greatly appreciated and make my entire day, so!!! and follow me on tumblr @jaredklein
> 
> see you in a couple of days :o)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Board games, long drives, and Chick-Fil-A.

Zoe complains a lot about being vegan. More than Connor does, actually. His complaints are limited to offhanded comments about it whenever Evan is over for dinner, and he’s not a super picky eater, so he doesn’t even _really_ care that much.

Zoe, however, could rant for days about Daiya cheese alone.

Today, she’s saying, “I mean I _get_ that it’s better for the environment and you save a bunch of cows and chickens and that’s great, and _yeah_ , my skin has cleared up since we went vegan and I feel healthier in general but _god_ ,” she shakes her head, “At what cost?”

Jared cracks up. Alana pats her on the hand sympathetically, in that way of hers. “We have chicken nuggets at my house if you want,” she offers.

When Evan and Alana go over to the Murphys’ after school, Zoe is somehow _still_ talking about all the vegan stuff at their house and how she hates almond milk, and how coconut milk is too sweet, even the unsweetened kind, and don’t even get her _started_ on soy.

“Um,” Evan says, setting his backpack down on the couch in the game room. “Do you like bananas?”

Zoe blinks. Connor laughs loudly from his spot in front of the TV. He’s sitting there, criss-cross, and his legs are so unbelievably long Evan wants to just. Put his head between them, or something. Not even in a sexual way. He just loves those legs so much.

 _Love?_ He thinks incredulously, and then says to himself, _it’s okay, it’s fine, you were thinking about his_ legs, _which yeah, was dumb, but it’s not that serious, not like you love_ him—

_Just his, um, legs._

“Uh, I guess?” Zoe replies.

“Okay, because—” Evan says. “Because there’s—banana milk is a thing, and it’s really good, probably my favorite kind of milk.”

Connor wrinkles his nose. “No offense, Ev, but that sounds gross.”

Zoe grins at Alana and mouths, “Ev?”

Evan feels his face heat up. He chews on the inside of his cheek. There’s a ridge that has formed there from all the anxious chewing, and it’s starting to hurt. “No, it’s not a super, um, banana-y taste? And it has sunflower seeds in it, I think. I mean I only tried it like twice but I really liked it.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “It’s kind of expensive, though, so…”

The siblings exchange a look that Evan thinks probably means " _not an issue."_

He has a weird mental image, then, of Zoe saying, _“Being poor? Never heard of that, never experienced that, never felt that,”_ and then he feels really bad. He’s not even sure _why_ exactly he feels bad. Probably for making Zoe seem snobby, even if it was just in his head.

“I’ll tell my mom to get some when she goes to Whole Foods,” Zoe tells him. “Thanks.”

He smiles at her, feeling kind of itchy and uncomfortable.

“You uh, wanna play something?” Connor asks him, gesturing towards the Playstation.

“Alana brought Sequence,” Zoe says.

“Ugh, no thanks.”

“We need teams! Come on.”

“What’s Sequence?” Evan asks.

Alana springs into action, pulling a board game box out of her backpack. Which reminds him a little bit of Hermione’s bottomless handbag in Harry Potter, because how in the world was she able to fit the whole thing in there with all of her textbooks?

She explains the rules, and Connor begrudgingly joins them in playing. He and Evan are a team, and Connor acts like he could care less about it all—he’s resting his chin on his knee, and looks at the board through his lashes in this lazy way that’s making Evan’s heart flutter embarrassingly, and every time he sets a piece down, he rolls his eyes a little—but he’s surprisingly good at the game. They win four times in a row, and Connor fist bumps Evan after each victory.

“You guys are no fun to play against,” Zoe says, sulking. Next to her, Alana is still beaming as if she’s oblivious to the fact that she and Zoe are doing so terribly.

“Why, ‘cause we’re so good?” Connor says with a smirk, eyebrows raised.

“You’re the one who wanted them to play in the first place,” Alana points out, bumping her shoulder against Zoe’s.

“I know, I know,” Zoe mutters, and then she’s smiling again, this time at Alana. “Wanna go to my room?” She wiggles her eyebrows. Connor mimes throwing up.

Laughing, Alana nods, and then they just leave Connor and Evan there with the board game, not even bothering to help clean up.

“She’s so fucking annoying,” Connor says, referring to his sister, but there’s no heat behind it.

 

-

  


On Saturday, sometime in the afternoon, Evan wakes up to a text from Connor.

**come over zoe’s being emo**

**well. emo for her**

**_What’s emo for zoe?_ ** Evan replies.

**she didn’t talk at all at breakfast and then she locked herself in her room**

**and now she’s blasting this weird song**

**i think she’s trying to tell me something??**

So Evan takes a shower, gets dressed, and goes, even though he was hoping to just sleep all day. Connor opens the door as soon as he gets there, as if he’s been waiting for him, and yanks him inside by the arm. Evan yelps and stumbles over the doormat.

“Thank fuck,” Connor says, and Evan can hear music coming from upstairs. It’s extremely loud. “Maybe you can get her to turn this shit off.”

Cynthia is walking down the hall, carrying a laundry basket. “Hi, Evan! It’s so nice to see you.”

Despite the smile on her face, she looks tired. Something about it is very sad, and reminds him of his own mom. He smiles back at her awkwardly, and gets out, “Yeah, nice to see you, too,” before Connor is dragging him upstairs.

Now that he’s closer, Evan recognizes the song. (Girls Like Girls by Hayley Kiyoko.)

(He thinks he understands now what Connor meant by “trying to tell me something”)

They wait outside her room for a good minute. Probably longer. The song ends, and then starts over from the beginning. Connor slams his head back against the wall, looking thoroughly pissed off.

During the second “ _Saw your face, heard your name,”_ Zoe yells over the music, “I can see your feet under the door, asshole! Go away!”

“Evan’s here too!” Connor shouts back, jiggling the doorknob. “Quit being such a brat and open the door.”

She doesn’t respond.

The song replays again.

“Fucking—” Connor slams his palms against the door. Evan winces. “This is getting really old!”

“Fuck you!” She says.

“Yikes,” says Evan lamely. “Maybe we should just—leave her alone?”

Connor turns to face him, still scowling, and then—suddenly, miraculously—the music stops.

The door opens. Zoe stands there, shoulders slumped, and glares at them. “What do you want?”

Connor opens his mouth, finger pointed at her accusingly, and he looks like he’s going to say something he’ll probably regret, so Evan steps in. “Um!” He says, gesturing frantically. “We’re—we’re going for a drive! And wanted to see if you—do you want to come? We can talk about...what’s bothering you?”

“Do I look like I want to do that?” She deadpans.

“Don’t be rude to Evan, he didn’t do anything to you,” Connor snaps, arms crossed.

Zoe sighs heavily. “Sorry, Evan.”

“It’s—it’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“Just fucking come with us,” Connor says.

“No.”

“You need to get out of the house.”

"You’re one to talk.” She scoffs.

He pushes her arm, and she nearly tips over. “Come on.”

She shoves back. “ _No._ Fuck off.”

They both seem so angry that Evan thinks they might start fighting for real, but then Connor’s expression goes the tiniest bit soft, and he raises his eyebrows, shoves his hands in his pockets and says airily, “We can go to Chick-Fil-A.”

Zoe stares at him for a long moment, face blank, then finally says, “You’re paying.”

“No,” Connor says stubbornly. Evan elbows him, and then he groans. “ _Fine._ Whatever. I hate you both.”

Zoe smiles at Evan and steps out of her room. They follow her downstairs. Cynthia is sitting on the couch now, watching TV, and she visibly perks up when she sees them putting their shoes on. “Feeling better, Zo?”

“Yeah,” Zoe says, tying her laces.

Connor waits impatiently, throwing his keys up in the air and then catching them. As they leave, Cynthia says, “Have fun, you guys!”

Zoe sort of slams the door behind them. Evan feels very bad about it.

They get in the car. Zoe sits in the back, not even bothering to call shotgun, which Connor seems sort of surprised by. When he pulls out of the driveway, Zoe taps Evan on the shoulder and holds out her phone. “Plug it in. I am not listening to Connor’s shitty CDs.”

“Oh,” Evan says, and takes it. “Um, the AUX doesn’t work, though?”

She groans. “Seriously? Okay, here, I’m just gonna play it like this.”

So he wordlessly passes the phone back to her, and as Connor drives to Chick-Fil-A, Zoe’s music starts playing, loud but not quite loud enough in the big van. When Evan turns to look at her, he sees that she has her hand cupped around the bottom of the phone, like she’s trying to amplify the sound. “I like this song,” he tells her, because he does like it, and he thinks maybe it’s nice to let her know. He recognizes the band by the resonant female voice—it’s Paramore. The song is soft and a little sad, but in a good way, he thinks. It must be newer, because he hasn’t heard it before. “Their other stuff is kind of—too angsty for me,” he adds, knotting his fingers into the bottom of his T-shirt.

Zoe grins. “Then you’re probably not gonna like the next song.”

Connor orders an eight-piece chicken nuggets, two waffle fries, and three huge sodas. The song ends as they exit the drive-thru, and after a short moment of silence, a sudden, heavy guitar begins playing, and then, _“I’m in the business of misery, let’s take it from the top—”_

“Sorry,” Connor says to Evan, but he looks more amused than apologetic, glancing back at his sister in the rearview mirror. “This is like a thing we do now. Emo music plus food. Usually not in the car, and up until now the food has been vegan, but.”

Zoe’s singing along, and then they reach the chorus, and Connor joins in too. It’s more yelling than it is singing, to be honest. “ _Woah, I never meant to brag,_ ” Zoe shouts at the top of her lungs.

Connor makes a sharp turn into a random shopping center, parks crookedly, and then unbuckles his seatbelt so he can thrash around as he yell-sings along. Evan can’t help but laugh. They sit there in the van, in front of a Subway and an Office Max, and Connor passes the box of chicken nuggets back to Zoe, keeping the fries in the front for him and Evan, and then he’s dancing in his seat again. Zoe’s headbanging probably too hard for this song, playing an imaginary guitar, and it’s all so wonderfully goofy and teenaged and happy that Evan lets himself sing along too, albeit quietly, and hesitant at first. When Connor gives him a strange but delighted sort of look, he says, cheeks burning, “What? I went through a phase!”

Zoe erupts into giggles. “You, Evan Hansen, had an emo phase? I don’t believe it.” Then she shrieks in time with the song, “ _I refuse, I refuse, I refuse!"_

Evan wants to capture this moment, roll it up and put it in a bottle, put the bottle on the shelf in his closet where it would stay safe, and he could take it down and open it up and remember every little detail whenever he needs a pick-me-up.

The song ends, and they sit there, breathless, silently absorbing the lyrics of the next one ( _"_ _Like we did when we were kids, ‘cause we can’t keep holding on to grudges..._ ”) and then Zoe unbuckles her seat belt and surges forward to grab both of them by the arms. “Thanks, guys,” she says, quiet but with conviction.

Evan beams at her, and then there’s a barely audible sniff from the driver’s seat, and Zoe looks at her brother in disbelief.

“Are you crying?” She says incredulously.

When Evan whips back around to look at him too, Connor’s face is blank as he stares ahead at the storefront.

“As if,” is all he says, and then he buckles up and pulls out of the parking lot.

“Hey,” Evan says a few minutes later, during some song that Zoe informs him is by Florence and the Machine. “Did you want—we never got to talk about, um, what’s bothering you?”

“Uh,” she says, drawing it out. There’s a long pause. Evan takes a sip of his Coke. He’s not a big fan of soda, usually, but Connor bought it so it’d be rude to not finish it, and he does like the way it fizzes on his tongue. He eats a few waffle fries.

“Spit it out,” Connor says unhelpfully.

She flips him off. He does the same to her with a grin, lashes fluttering, and Evan’s heart does somersaults behind his ribcage.

The song ends, and then Zoe finally says, out of nowhere, “So, um, I’m bi?”

Evan coughs, choking a little, and Connor says, “Shit,” and thumps him on the back, and the car swerves grandly. (This is why Evan does not like eating in front of people, he remembers.)

The song playing right now is upbeat ( _"You steal the air out of my lungs, you make me feel it—_ ") and makes Connor tap his fingers against the steering wheel. He looks like he doesn’t know what to say, and Zoe is in the backseat fidgeting anxiously, awaiting some kind of response, so Evan squeaks, “Me too?”

The car swerves again, and this time, they only narrowly avoid a crash. Someone honks loudly, and Connor honks back for twice as long, leaning into it. His cheeks are bright red.

The tension is gone, then. Zoe smiles wide. “Really?”

Evan tries for a smile back. “Um. Yes?”

“That’s _great!”_ She exclaims, laughing and punching him on the arm. “Congrats!”

It’s all so silly. He laughs. “Thanks, um, you too.”

“‘Congrats’?” Connor says, unimpressed.

“Fuck off,” she says mildly. “Do _you_ have anything to say?”

His fingers twitch on the wheel. “Uh. Cool, I guess. Good for you.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “Also, I like guys? So.”

He glances over at Evan after he says this, so quick that if Evan would have missed it if he weren’t staring at him. The car has gone still and silent aside from the music.

“That’s great,” Evan jokes awkwardly. “Congrats!”

It helps. Connor’s face breaks into a smile, and then he’s laughing. “Oh my god, Evan.”

“We should get ice cream,” Zoe declares. “To celebrate our collective coming outs.”

“I _just_ bought you Chick-Fil-A.”

“This is a special occasion!”

So Connor begrudgingly takes them to A La Mode, even though it’s in the opposite direction of their neighborhood, and they were already halfway back to the house. He goes inside, grumbling some more about how they literally just got Chick-Fil-A, while Evan and Zoe stay in the car.

Evan didn’t know it was possible to feel so happy. His chest feels like it’s going to burst with the enormousness of this feeling.

“That went way better than I ever thought it would,” Zoe says with a happy sigh. She taps him on the shoulder, gently, and he turns his head to face her. She’s holding out the phone. “Play something you like,” she tells him.

“I like your music,” he says, picking at a hangnail.

“Like, something you know,” she insists. “Come on.”

So he takes her phone, and, feeling anxious and self-conscious again for the first time since sitting in the car, looks up one of his favorite bands. His hands feel sweaty, and he worries about getting fingerprints on the screen.

Connor comes back with four cups of ice cream in his hands. He gives Evan his sweet cream, puts the mint chocolate chip in the cupholder for himself, and then passes the last two cups to Zoe. “Sorry, uh, I couldn’t remember if your favorite was strawberry or Moose Tracks, so. I got both.”

Zoe blinks rapidly. “Thanks,” she mumbles. “It’s—strawberry. For future reference.”

Connor settles in, one leg drawn up onto the seat, wedged between himself and the steering wheel. Impossibly long, and handsome, Evan thinks. He finally picks a song and hits play before he can overthink it and ruin everything, and cleans the screen with the bottom of his shirt despite the fact that he can’t see any smudges on it, then hands the phone back to Zoe.

_“Brave young cowboys_

_Of the near north side—”_

“Holy shit,” Connor says, leaning toward Evan with a sense of urgency, and Evan’s heart plummets into his stomach for a split second, for no real reason. But then Connor says, “Fuck _yes_.”

“What’s happening?” Zoe says.

“Shut up,” Connor tells her. He shuts his eyes and grins around his spoon, and then says with John Darnielle, “ _Arch your back—_ ”

“ _Let this whole town hear your knuckles crack,”_ Evan sings along quietly, any and all bad feelings gone again, smiling because Connor _knows the song_ and he can’t believe it.

Connor’s eyes fly open. He looks extremely young. “Dude,” he says happily, and then they both say at the same time, “I can’t believe you listen to The Mountain Goats.”

Evan laughs, and then he can’t stop laughing, hiding his face in his hands.

“This is so romantic,” Zoe deadpans, and Connor flips her off, eyes fixed on Evan. Evan once again feels that strange intimidating feeling that comes with Connor’s attention. He feels reenergized. He wants to run a mile, or belt the rest of the song.

The latter is more doable, in this moment, but just because he’s happy doesn’t mean he suddenly has the confidence for that, so he settles for humming along, while Connor shouts the lyrics in between laughs.

“You sound like a dying animal,” Zoe lets him know. She’s finished her first cup of ice cream and is now starting on the second. “Meanwhile Evan’s not even trying and he sounds like an angel.”

“Hey, he’s not that bad,” Evan says, mainly in an attempt to draw the attention away from himself.

“Not _that_ bad,” Zoe snorts. “Hear that, Connor?”

“Fuck you,” he says, and then shouts, “ _Crawl till dawn!”_

“Do you like it? Um, the song?” Evan asks Zoe nervously, wringing his hands a little.

She shrugs, then says with a grin, “I dunno, I’ll have to listen to more of their stuff?”

Evan smiles and sits back. The song ends. This time, Zoe doesn’t play another.

“Let’s hurry up and go home,” she says. “I wanna catch the new episode of Grey’s.”

Connor rolls his eyes, unfolding his leg from under him. He stretches his arms above his head, and his back cracks loudly in the now quiet car. His shirt rides up a little to expose the smooth, pale skin of his stomach, and Evan also catches a glimpse of a happy trail, and his mouth is suddenly very dry. He shoves a spoonful of melted ice cream into his mouth. “You’re so mainstream,” Connor is telling Zoe.

“Oh, I’m Connor, I’m _so_ edgy,” she says, pitching her voice so that it sounds uncannily similar to her brother’s. Then she laughs and quotes, “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m weird. I’m a weirdo. Have you ever seen me without this—nail polish on? That’s _weird_.”

Evan lets out a giggle. Connor’s face goes red, and he mutters, “I hate you both."

But he looks like he's trying not to smile, and so does Zoe.

Things are alright. Things are more than alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my favorite chapter out of all of them idk it's cheesy but very near and dear to my heart and I'm so happy to finally get to post it!! :,,)
> 
> songs mentioned during the car ride, in order: tell me how by paramore, misery business by paramore, grudges by paramore (a very zoe and connor song imo), ship to wreck by florence and the machine, don't take the money by bleachers, damn these vampires by the mountain goats
> 
> please leave kudos, comment your thoughts, feelings, favorite parts, feedback, anything!! and follow me on tumblr @jaredklein (I have very strong opinions on the deh kids' music tastes, so....if anyone wants to ask me about that.....u know where to ask)
> 
> thanks for reading <3


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving break part one.

It’s the Friday before Thanksgiving break, and Evan is eating lunch at the Murphys’ after school. He and Connor are sitting at the kitchen table having grilled zucchini and hummus wraps, and Evan realizes he likes zucchini, and then starts thinking about how there are lots of vegetables that he doesn’t really know if he likes or not, because he grew up on Lunchables and Kid Cuisine and instant noodles and takeout. And then he starts thinking about his mom, and he feels awful because they’re still mad at each other. He takes a big bite in the hopes that it’ll make the lump in his throat go down when he swallows.

“What are your plans for Thanksgiving, Evan?” Cynthia asks politely from where she stands in front of the sink, washing flour off of her hands. She’s been baking something.

Evan takes another bite so that his mouth is full and he has more time to think about a response. “Um.” He reaches for his glass of water, takes a sip, and Does Not look at Connor when he says, “My dad—my dad’s coming home and we’re gonna just—” His voice is incredibly small. “Have dinner, probably? Just me and my mom and him.”

Furthering the lie. _Nice,_ the voice in his head nags, and he wrings his hands under the table as it continues, _all you’re good at is lying, except you’re pretty bad at that, too, so._

_Why do you even bother?_

_(Like, existing?)_

“Oh, that’s nice!" She replies.

Connor slumps in his chair and grumbles, “Lucky. Our entire extended family is gonna come over. They’re staying for like three days.”

Evan gulps down some more water, avoiding his gaze.

“It won’t be that bad,” Cynthia says.

Connor scoffs, picking at a soggy piece of zucchini. Then his eyes light up suddenly and he says, “At least fucking Richard won’t be here this year.”

Cynthia laughs, and Connor looks surprised. “True,” she agrees, turning away to get something from the cabinet.

Connor gives a small, confused sort of grin in her direction. Then he looks at Evan and explains, “Richard’s my uncle. On my dad’s side. He’s a huge dick.”

Evan smiles awkwardly. He’s finished his food, so he can’t stuff his face anymore to avoid the conversation. “Why isn’t he coming this year?”

“He’s going to jail,” Connor says gleefully. Evan sputters.

“He’s not going to _jail,_ Connor,” Cynthia says, spooning batter into muffin tins. “He’s...on trial.”

“Yeah, and it’s not going so great,” Connor shoots back. “I heard dad on the phone the other day. He’s facing five to ten years, and his lawyer sucks.”

Evan bites his tongue and shifts in his seat, and then Connor rolls his eyes at him.

“Spit it out, dude.”

“Why—” Evan starts. “Why is he on trial?”

“Tax fraud,” Connor says, grinning happily. “But don’t ask me the specifics, because I don’t get any of it.” He stands up, rolling his neck, and then takes their plates to the sink. Cynthia looks over at him as he rinses them off, and her shoulders bow kind of sadly, and then she seems to remember that Evan is there, glances at him, and goes into the pantry with a forced smile. Connor, oblivious to all of this, turns off the faucet and dries his hands. And then he’s facing Evan again and bouncing up and down on his tiptoes. It’s endearing. “Wanna play Pikmin?” He asks. “We haven’t used the Wii in a while.”

Evan is pretty sure Pikmin is a one-player game, so by this he must mean _do you wanna watch me play_ —which Evan does want to do. He likes seeing Connor grow increasingly frustrated with the colorful little creatures. It makes Evan really happy, and he could use that today, he thinks as he follows Connor up to the game room. ( _You could use it every single miserable depressed day of your life,_ he tries not to think.)

 

-

 

When he gets home that night, content but weary, his mom’s car is in the driveway. He stands on the porch for a while before going in, steadying himself. He doesn’t want a confrontation right now, but it feels like that’s what’s going to happen anyways. His fingertips tingle uncomfortably as he unlocks the door.

She’s in his room, waiting for him. She isn’t snooping—just sitting there on the bed—but his heart still beats a little faster at her presence.

He hovers in the doorway. She just looks at him. She doesn’t quite smile, but she’s not frowning either, so he doesn’t know what to think. “You’re home late,” she says finally.

 _That’s rich, coming from you,_ he wants to say, but he chews furiously on the inside of his cheek and keeps his mouth shut. The ridge there is starting to bleed, and it hurts. He runs his tongue over it despite the sharp pain. “Yeah,” he says tiredly, eyes roaming around the room, looking anywhere but her face.

There are a few moments of stifling silence, and then she seems to decide to change tactics and says, “About the other day.”

He’s shaking his head at the floor. “Don’t,” he gets out, “It’s not—”

“I’m sorry, Evan, I really am,” she says, gentle but firm. She’s standing in front of him now, and he doesn’t remember seeing her get up. His vision is embarrassingly blurry. _Fuck. Fucking crap. You can’t even talk to her about it without crying. You’re proving her right. Everything she thinks about you, that you’re weak, broken—you’re just further proving all of that right now._ “I should have asked you first. You’re almost an adult, you can make your own decisions.” He sniffles, wipes his nose on his sleeve. “Do you want to visit him?” she asks tentatively, and then his head shoots up and he’s flailing his arms.

“ _No,_ ” he says in earnest, lower lip quivering. He wants to say more, explain himself, but he can’t breathe, wheezing loudly and backing himself into the corner of his room, hand pressed to his sternum, shoulders shaking.

Thankfully, she doesn’t try to come near him. “What do you need from me, Evan?” she asks, voice soft and mom-like and soothing, and he just shakes his head a lot and stammers something that doesn’t make sense, and so then they both wait it out. His ragged breaths are too loud. (Everything is too loud in this quiet house, with just the two of them.) (Usually just one of them. Usually just him.)

After a while, they both sit down on the carpet, cross-legged. She puts her hand on his knee in a gesture that’s meant to be comforting, he thinks, but he’s too tired to see it as such. It just feels like. A hand on his knee.

“Sorry,” he tells her weakly.

Her grip tightens for a second as she shakes her head firmly. “Don’t apologize, okay? Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna go downstairs, while you wash your face and get changed into your comfiest pajamas.” He loves the way she says that word—puh-jammas, all emphasis on the last two syllables. “And then we’ll order Chinese and spend the rest of the night watching cheesy movies. We can talk more about your dad if you want, but we don’t have to. Okay? You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”

She gets to her feet and looks down at him, eyebrows raised. He chews on his lip, and says, “No,” because he thinks if he tells her about the grilled zucchini and hummus wraps, everything might get ruined all over again. “But I thought we were, um, working on eating healthy?”

His mom laughs. It’s the first genuine laugh he’s heard from her in what feels like a very long time. “Are you telling me deep fried crab puffs aren’t healthy?”

Evan is bad at this. Instead of joking back, he mumbles, “I’m a vegetarian, remember...”

Thankfully, her smile doesn’t falter. “Veggie lo mein, then!” Then she wrings her hands a little. “Get cleaned up. You’ll feel better, I promise. And then come downstairs. Okay?”

“Okay,” he says, and then makes a show of getting to his feet and smiling for her. It feels weird and a little wrong on his face, but if she notices, she doesn’t comment. Just smiles back and then heads down the hall.

He does what he’s told: washes his face, then decides to take a quick shower while he’s at it, letting himself enjoy the feeling of warm water and soap on his body. When he gets out, he puts on some soft sweatpants and an oversized sweater, and his mom was right, because of course she is—he feels better now that he’s clean and in comfy clothes.

He sits down next to her on the couch, and she immediately wraps an arm around him, brings him closer, so that his head rests on her shoulder. His damp hair is probably getting her shirt wet, and also he’s shaking from trying not to cry because he doesn’t get nearly enough physical contact and gets emotional all the time about it. “I ordered the food already,” she murmurs. “It should be here in fifteen. How does Legally Blonde sound?”

It sounds perfect. He tells her this, and she hits play without another word. When the food arrives, she reluctantly lets go of him and heads to the door, twenty dollar bill in hand. They relocate to the floor, pushing the coffee table to the side of the room and spreading everything out on the rug, and soon the living room is a mess of plastic bags and white containers and napkins. After he’s eaten as much as he possibly can, she unwraps a fortune cookie and hands it to him.

He breaks it in half, pops a piece of it in his mouth, and pulls out the little slip of paper.

“What does it say?”

Evan frowns down at it. “‘Your natural charm will attract someone special.’”

_Yeah, right._

“Ooh,” she says with a grin, and he ducks his head, embarrassed, trying not to think about tall boys with long hair and black nail polish and captivating smiles. “Want another?”

She knows him well.

“Yes please,” he says, crumpling up the piece of paper.

The next one says, “Good things are coming.”

And. He’s not saying it feels like a sign. But with his mom smiling over his shoulder encouragingly, Reese Witherspoon on the television screen, and his stomach full—

It kind of does. Just a little bit.

 

-

 

Thanksgiving break arrives. Evan spends most of it working on college apps and scholarship essays and trying not to pull his hair out. Connor texts him a lot—things like “my cousin is going to business school and my dad keeps giving me looks every single time she talks about it. we fucking get it larry. ur not as subtle as u think” and “evan my room is full of screaming children” and “i think zoe’s gonna murder someone” and Evan’s favorite so far: “why are grandparents Like That”

It’s kind of a distraction sometimes, but it helps. Today, Evan has just been staring blankly at his laptop screen, thinking about how his grades aren’t good enough for the schools he wants to go to and how there’s no way this essay would ever win him a scholarship and how he’ll probably never get to go to college or be happy, and then he’s thinking about climbing trees.

He sends Connor a text: **_hey I could use a distraction, wanna rant some more about ypur family?_ **

The reply comes a few minutes later: **surprisingly enough i have nothing to rant about today**

 _Oh._ Evan’s heart sinks embarrassingly as he sets his phone down on the desk. He stares some more at his laptop. He wants to erase everything he’s written. It’s terrible and it’s not like it matters anyway if he’s going to jump out of a tree again before he even gets a college decision.

His phone buzzes on the desk, and then doesn’t stop. He picks it up and frowns, because. Connor is calling him. Why is Connor calling him?

He hits accept, despite the way his heart is racing. His palms feel too warm. He can’t tell if it’s because of his crush or because he hates phone calls.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Connor says after a moment. Lots of people are talking in the background, and then Evan hears the sound of a door closing and it gets quieter. “Sorry. I’m hiding in the bathroom.” His voice sounds a little bit echoey.

Evan doesn’t know what to say to that. “Oh,” is all he gets out, then cringes at his awkwardness. “What’s, um—what’s up?”

“I was gonna ask _you_ that,” Connor says with a snort. “What’s wrong?”

“I—what? Nothing’s wrong. Why would you think that?”

He can picture Connor rolling his eyes. “You said you needed a distraction? And your text was filled with typos.”

Evan puts the phone on speaker so that he can go to his messages and check. “Hey, there’s only one typo,” he protests.

“I could feel the anxiety through the screen,” Connor says. “Come on.”

Evan sighs and glances at his laptop again. The little black cursor line is there at the end of the last paragraph, blinking back at him. “I’m just really swamped with all this. College app stuff.”

“Oh. Huh.” A pause. “Is that it?”

Evan’s cheeks burn. “I-I mean—I know it’s not—that big of a deal—”

“No no no, Evan,” Connor says quickly, and then there’s a loud thud and he says, “Ow, fuck—I didn’t mean it like that. I meant like, if that’s all, I could probably help you out?”

“Oh.” Evan hates himself so much.

“I mean, I don’t know if I’d _actually_ be that much help, but. If you needed someone to read over your essays or something, I could do that.”

 _I don’t deserve him,_ Evan thinks, holding the phone close to his ear.

“Evan?”

He exhales shakily. “Yeah.”

Connor is silent for a few moments. “Never mind, uh, just forget it,” he says then. “I don’t know why I thought...” He laughs in a bitter, almost angry sort of way.

Evan has to snap himself out of it as he realizes—Connor probably thinks he’s not smart enough. Connor thinks Evan doesn’t want his help. He practically falls out of his desk chair as he says hastily, “No! It’s just, that’s so sweet of you, and I’m so tired, and I just had to take a second to process—um.” Has he said too much? “I would really like that. I’m sorry.”

A long pause. “Don’t be sorry, fuck, I overreacted.” There’s another thud on Connor’s end, softer this time, and then he says, “Just don’t call me sweet again, I have a reputation."

Evan laughs despite, well, everything. “Oh, do you?”

“Yeah, you didn’t know?” Connor plays along, and is it just Evan or is his voice slightly shaky? “I’m Connor Murphy. School freak.”

“You’re not a freak,” Evan protests, frowning.

“I’m just saying. How am I gonna maintain my scary image if there’re cute guys going around calling me _sweet_?”

There’s an awkward silence.

“Uh,” Connor says.

“You think I’m cute?” Evan asks in a rush, and then squeezes his eyes shut, wincing, because _fuck, you couldn’t just let it go, you just_ had _to ask, and now it’s even weirder than it was before._

“Uh,” Connor says again. “I mean, like. Objectively, yeah, I guess, um—y’know?”

Evan does _not_ know. He can’t believe any of this. For some reason, Connor right now sounds as flustered as Evan pretty much always is. “I’ll send you my essay!” He says too loudly, trying to change the subject. He’s glad Connor can’t see his face right now. He’s probably so red.

“Right,” Connor says, matching his volume. There’s a crashing sound somewhere in the background, and then he swears and says, “Just, uh. Email it to me.”

Evan nods vigorously, then remembers again that Connor can’t fucking see him and says, “Yep! I will do that, doing that now, um, actually I think my mom’s home, so I should—”

“Yeah, I think someone’s calling me downstairs,” Connor says, voice strained. “I’ll email you. Or, uh, you’ll email me. Whatever. Talk to you later, Evan.”

“Talk later!” Evan says overenthusiastically, and then hangs up before he can say another word.

Afterward, he has to sit on the floor with his head in his hands for a good five minutes, trying not to hyperventilate because he thinks Connor has made a comment like that before. What was it? Oh yeah, when he slept over that time and told Evan that his bedhead was cute.

Connor thinks he’s cute. Objectively, he said, but _still._

_That’s kind of big, right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! my internet has been down for a while and I didn't want to update from my phone because formatting issues
> 
> also, this has reached 3000 hits and 300 kudos which is!! surreal thanks so much for reading <3
> 
> as always, please comment (your thoughts, feelings, favorite parts, feedback, etc) because I live for that
> 
> next chapter is from ya boy connor's point of view!!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving break part two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: mentions of drug use, mentions of self harm, and an anxiety attack

“Jesus motherfucking Christ,” Zoe mutters, shutting the front door. The last of their guests have just left.

“ _Language,_ ” comes their mom’s voice from the stairs.

“I feel like I can breathe again,” Connor says, grinning a little. The two of them just stand there, taking in the blissful silence of the house. For the past few days, there's been nothing but non stop chatter, children running around wreaking all kinds of havoc, grandparents yelling, “What? I don’t have my hearing aids in, you need to speak up!” and passive aggressive comments from family members who really have no place butting their heads in Connor's business, because he hasn't even interacted with them since he was a toddler.

Zoe sighs. “Tell me about it.”

Usually, this is where the conversation would end for them. A few months ago, it probably would have ended even sooner. (With him screaming for no real reason, and her storming upstairs and slamming the door to her room.) But Zoe has a dopey sort of smile on her face, and he kind of...wants to keep talking to her.

When they were very young, there was no Connor without Zoe. There was no Zoe without Connor. They went everywhere together, did everything together. It always felt like it was the two of them against the world.

It’s starting to feel that way again.

Just a little bit.

“It wasn’t all that bad,” he tries, wincing a little at how his voice comes out strained. He only says it to say _something._ He doesn’t actually believe himself. This week has been hell. “I mean, at least you didn’t have to cut your hair because Emmett got gum stuck in it.”

“Ugh, that was probably the worst Thanksgiving ever,” she says. “How did he even spit it that far?”

He grins. “You screamed so loud, Mom almost had a heart attack.”

“Remember when you got high with Uncle Bob’s stepkid before dinner?” She counters. “Was that sophomore year?”

Connor snorts. “Yup. He was never invited again. Remember when they found Julie’s wedding ring in the turkey?”

“Remember when she brought her dog with her?”

“And Dad pretended he was allergic so that he could lock himself in his room for two days?”

“To be fair, that was also the year that Uncle Richard invited his asshole girlfriend.”

“Oh my god, I remember that now. If I had known beforehand, I would’ve faked allergies to avoid that shitshow, too. Or at least gotten high for it.”

“Right?”

“Remember when you had that long ass argument with Grandpa about how Thanksgiving is the worst holiday in history?”

“I stand by that,” Zoe exclaims, crossing her arms. “It’s literally a celebration of genocide. And also, what the hell and fuck are candied yams? What kind of dessert is that?”

“It's a monstrosity,” he agrees, completely serious.

“The best part of this year was probably Mom trying to explain veganism to Grandma,” she says.

Connor snorts, and then they’re both laughing.

“I’m gonna go to bed,” she says afterward, heading toward the stairs. “G’night.”

“Night,” he replies, feeling nostalgic and weird.

It’s only eight, which feels too early to go to sleep, but he’s kind of tired, so he gets a bottle of water from the kitchen and then goes upstairs too.

 

-

 

Connor has a huge, raging crush on Evan.

Evan who, months ago, apologized on behalf of his asshole friend. Evan who wanted to be friends with him even after he told him to fuck off. Even when Connor was probably cold and mean and awkward.

Evan, with his stutter and his anxiety. Evan who has mental health problems just like him. Evan who was seemingly unafraid to talk about it all.

Evan, with his many different types of laughs. The nervous kind, the snort, the giggle that is just _way_ too fucking cute, the one that’s sudden and loud and beautiful, the one where he covers his whole face as his shoulders shake with the force of it...

Evan, who was hilarious when high. Evan who held his hand while they slept on the floor of Connor’s bedroom.

Evan who sang along to Paramore and The Mountain Goats in the front seat of his car, and sounded pretty great.

Evan who he fucking _flirted_ with on the phone the other day. (In the worst, most awkward and cringey way, but still.)

Evan who, yesterday in the hallway, looked at him kind of funny and told him, “You, um, have an eyelash.” Connor had brushed a hand over his face, and Evan made a tiny strangled sound and reached out, then stopped himself, and Connor, slightly annoyed, said, “Just get it for me, Evan, I’m not gonna bite.” So Evan got it, with a nervous smile and gentle fingers, and placed the lash in Connor’s palm and said, “Make a wish?” And then Connor stared at him in awe and wonder as his heart did backflips in his chest, and then Jared said, “Gay,” from the locker next to them, and Evan blushed and Connor closed his eyes for a brief moment and blew the lash away, wishing for a passing grade in Pre-Cal.

Evan who, today, is standing in the middle of Zoe’s bathroom looking out of his element and unbelievably cute. Here’s what’s going on: It’s the day before Thanksgiving break ends, and Zoe’s dying her hair. Well, a strip of it. She asked Connor multiple times to help her, but he refused to, just because he felt like being difficult, and so she called Evan over to help instead, and now Connor is standing in the doorway, amused, watching her struggle, and Evan goes over to her and says, “What do I—um.”

“Here, I’ll put my hair up, and you put it on.” She hands him the dye brush and then ties her hair up, leaving down a thick strip at the back of her neck. Evan looks over at Connor, bewildered, gripping the brush tightly, and Connor stifles a laugh.

Evan takes hold of the piece of hair, hesitantly, and starts putting the color in. It’s dark blue, and it’s getting all over his fingers and her neck and the collar of her shirt, and she says quietly, “It’ll be lighter when I wash it out. And don’t worry about getting it on my shirt. It’s super old.”

Evan’s shoulders relax, just a tiny bit. He chews on his lip as he works. Connor watches and thinks about Evan’s careful hand on his cheekbone, brushing off an eyelash. Thinks about how he’d like to have Evan’s hands in _his_ hair.

Would he pull, if Connor asked?

The thought of Evan’s nails scratching softly against his scalp, the idea of him tugging at his hair, maybe even _yanking,_ makes Connor’s whole body feel tingly and weird. He leaves the bathroom, mumbling that he’ll be in his room, and then goes into his closet, puts his head between his knees, and forces himself to think about things that are decidedly Not Hot. Trying to calm down. Jesus.

Evan comes in after a few minutes. He doesn’t even question why Connor is sitting in the closet, he’s so fucking amazing, he just sits down next to him and says, “She has to wait a while before she can wash the dye out.”

He’s looking down at his hands, so Connor looks too, even though he probably shouldn’t. They’re stained blue from the dye. It looks like he’s tried to wash it off.

Connor frowns. “Should’ve given you gloves.”

Evan shrugs and gives him a small smile. “I like blue. S’fine.”

And then Connor can’t stand being in such a small space with him, so he coughs and stumbles out of the closet. Evan follows. “What do you wanna do?” Connor asks.

“Um.” Evan tangles his hands in the bottom of his shirt. This is too fucking much. Evan’s sleeves are long and floppy, and he looks ridiculously soft. He’s real. He’s tangible.

These are very dangerous thoughts, Connor notes distantly.

He’s always been pretty self-destructive. It’s just that usually, the reckless things he does aren’t, like. Having a crush on a guy who’s his only friend. Maybe even his _best_ friend.

“We could watch something?” Evan is saying.

Connor nods. “Okay,” he says. “Hang on.” He goes to steal the desk chair from Zoe’s room so that he and Evan can both sit in front of the desk, where his laptop is. The alternative option is sitting on the bed, which Connor doesn’t want to do, for reasons he doesn’t want to think about. He pulls up Netflix and tells Evan, “You can pick, I don’t care.”

Evan looks surprised or nervous or something. He clicks through the recommended stuff for a few minutes, then exhales sort of shakily and says, “Uh.”

Connor resists the urge to roll his eyes fondly. “Dude, really. Anything. I don’t care.”

“Fine, fine,” Evan says. He chews on his lip and goes to the movies section, picking something out surprisingly fast. “We don’t have to watch the whole—”

Connor cuts him off. “I want to watch whatever you want to watch. Okay? So we’re watching,” he squints at the title at the bottom of the screen, “Best of Disney Shorts. Oh hey, I think I’ve seen this.”

“Oh,” Evan says hastily. “Then let’s pick something else.”

“No,” Connor says, swatting his hand away from the keyboard with a snort. “Just sit back and watch.” After a second, he adds, “My favorite’s the one with the dog.”

“I’ve only seen, um, the one with the cat—you know, with the tail that—”

“Shit, that’s a good one too,” Connor says.

They watch for about twenty minutes, and then Zoe comes in. Her hair is damp, and she pulls it up with one hand and turns around to show them, and he sees that it’s more of a light indigo, now, not as dark as it looked before.

“I like that color,” Connor tells her, as Evan says, “It looks really cool.”

“Thanks! I’m gonna go show Mom,” she says, beaming, and then she bounds out of the room.

 

-

 

Two days later, Connor is anxious as shit.

This doesn’t happen to him often. He rarely ever feels panicked and itchy and breathless like this, but he spent the whole afternoon talking to Evan about college and going over scholarship essays and then when Evan prompted him to talk about his _own_ college app process, Connor ranted for half an hour about how his parents are never going to let him go to art school, so it’s fucking useless to even bother applying anywhere.

After he dropped Evan off, he realized that he kind of felt like he couldn’t breathe, and then he drove around town aimlessly for a while until he _really_ he couldn’t breathe and decided to just fucking go home.

So now he’s in his room, sitting in bed, hugging his legs to his chest and trying to figure out this feeling. He thinks he’s having an anxiety attack. He’s had them before. They’re never, like, full-blown, where he’s hyperventilating and breathing hard and crying and all that shit. Usually, they go more like this, with him kind of just. Paralyzed with fear. Uncomfortable. Unable to think clearly.

Everyone has started their college apps by now. Kleinman was talking about FAFSA at lunch, and Alana’s already submitted stuff to like three schools, because she’s so fucking on top of everything, and Evan’s stressed about it all but at least he’s still getting his shit done.

The future is a terrifying concept for a lot of people, but Connor’s future? He doesn’t even _have_ one. He can’t see himself pursuing a career in anything but art, one of the only things he genuinely enjoys. And if he doesn’t get to do that, then...what’s the fucking point?

The only reason he’s made it through high school is because of the very tiny, glimmering hope that one day he’d get to move away and go to art school, get out of this fucking house and this fucking family and make a life for himself where he gets to do what makes him happy. Where he maybe gets to be okay.

His chest feels tight. Weirdly enough, he very badly wants to cry. It just feels appropriate. But he can’t really do it. (Which sucks, because when it comes to little things, he can cry at the drop of a hat.) He tries _making_ himself cry by thinking about depressing shit, and it almost works—but then the sadness passes, and he’s just numb and tired again but with blurry vision, because the half-assed tears won’t even fall. God, he fucking hates this. He hates himself.

There’s some weed stashed in the back of his closet that might make him feel something other than this panic. Or some pills in the medicine cabinet that would help him sleep for a long time and forget about all his fucking worries. No one would notice if he took them. And if they did notice, they probably wouldn’t say anything about it. They never have, in the past.

He scratches idly at his arms and thinks about another thing he hasn’t done in a while. He eyes his desk drawer.

But then he thinks about Evan and how surprised and happy he’d been that day when Connor told him he hadn’t smoked in a while, and—

Connor doesn’t get the weed, or the sleeping pills, or something he could cut himself open with. Which he’s stupidly kind of proud of himself for.

His mom comes home sometime in the late evening. Zoe hasn’t come in to disturb him yet, so he thinks she’s staying over at Alana’s tonight. He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here, staring blankly at the walls. He still can’t quite seem to get enough air in his lungs.

“Hey honey,” his mom says, smiling so hard he seriously thinks her teeth might crack. Why does she try so fucking hard all the time? It would make him kind of sad, if he wasn’t, like, incapable of empathy. Incapable of feeling in general, it seems sometimes. “How was your day?”

He shrugs, eyes on his feet. _Maybe I should start painting my toenails, too,_ he thinks numbly.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” she says. She’s standing in the doorway like she doesn’t really want to come in. Good. He doesn’t want her in his space, especially not when he’s in such an incredibly shitty mood. It’s bad enough that he doesn’t get to have a fucking door.

“What,” he says.

“Your dad and I were wondering if you’ve started your college apps yet,” she says, and he clenches his fists so hard he hears a knuckle crack.

Breathing hard through his nose, he says, voice strained, “I’m not talking about this right now.”

“Connor, you’ve been avoiding this stuff for so long, there are deadlines coming up—”

“I already said I’m not _fucking_ talking about it.”

“Please don’t take that tone with me, Connor, we have to talk about it sooner or later!”

He shuts his eyes and buries his head between his knees. “Not today. Please.” His voice comes out muffled and pathetic and fucked up. He wishes he could just _cry._

The way he says it must make her feel bad or something, because suddenly she’s next to his bed—but she still knows better than to sit down—and asking, “Is everything alright?”

He doesn’t respond. Sometimes when he’s too fucking exhausted to argue, if he stays quiet long enough, she’ll leave him alone.

“Honey, look at me.”

So it’s not going to work today. Fucking amazing. When he looks up at her, he just sort of snaps. “I’m fucking tired, okay? And stressed, because everyone I know has already started on this college bullshit and everyone else knows what they’re doing in life and I fucking don’t, because _you guys_ won’t let me do what I fucking want.”

She looks taken aback, and then kind of upset. “Oh, Connor, I...I didn’t know you were feeling this way.”

“Why would you? Not like you give a shit,” he mumbles into his knee.

“That is _not_ true,” his mom says, looking kind of like her heart is breaking. She reaches out a hand as if to touch him, then seems to think better of it and pulls back. “I care about you so much, Connor. I’m your _mom._ And your father, he...It might seem like he doesn’t really see you, sometimes, but he cares, too.” When Connor stays silent, jaw clenched, she continues. “We _love_ you. We want what’s best for you, and what’s best for you is what makes _you_ happy. Not us. Okay?”

Connor grips his own sleeve tightly. It helps ground him, a little. “Yeah, maybe you think that, but he definitely doesn’t,” he says hollowly.

She doesn’t try to argue with that, which he appreciates on some small level. “How about you tell me what it is you wanna do, and I can try to talk to him about it? Zoe told me something about...art school?”

He almost scoffs. He almost tells her that it has never fucking worked when she’s tried to “talk” to him about anything Connor-related in the past. No amount of convincing on her part can change his dad’s mind. He’s as stubborn as his kids.

But instead of saying all this, Connor tells her about the schools he wants to apply to. He tells her about all the programs they offer and how he’s interested in graphic design or illustration, but leaning more towards illustration, and he tells her about how he doesn’t even have to worry about his grades or shitty SAT scores when applying because they focus less on academics and more on the portfolio, and he tells her about how he already has most of his portfolio done, he just needs maybe two more pieces, and then, when he’s done talking, he realizes the tightness in his chest has loosened a little. His face feels warm as he meets his mom’s eyes. He hasn’t talked to her like this in a very long time.

She seems to be thinking the same thing. She looks, annoyingly, sad and happy at the same time, in that weird way she gets, and he really hopes she isn’t going to say some shit about it because then he might get mad again and lash out at her. And then she wouldn’t be on his side about this anymore.

He needs someone in his corner. He’s always needed that, but. He kind of needs it now more than ever.

“Okay,” is all she says, cheerful as ever, flashing a smile. “I’ll talk to your dad.”

“Right.”

“I can tell you really want this, Connor. We’ll make it work somehow. I promise.”

Connor’s mouth twists to the side, involuntary, and he nods a little, still not that confident in her abilities to change his dad’s mind.

She makes her way to the doorway. “You just worry about getting your portfolio together, okay? Can you finish it in the next...” A panicked look comes over her face for a brief second, before she sort of shakes herself and forces her expression into something more relaxed. “...week or so? Because most college app deadlines are December 1st, right?”

At this reminder, he feels just as panicked all over again. He won’t have time. It’s already the end of November. Fuck. “Yeah,” he mumbles, but then remembers suddenly, “Wait, uh, actually, for a couple of the schools I wanna apply to, the deadline isn’t until the 15th. And then for rest, it’s January 1st.”

She nods and smiles, blinking a lot. It’s kind of making him uncomfortable. “Okay, then. Let’s still aim for next week, though! Try to have everything as ready as possible.” She pauses for a moment, then adds earnestly, “Get some rest, okay? You look...exhausted.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, and then she just fucking _beams_ at him and leaves the room, despite looking like she still has a lot more that she wants to say.

Connor stretches out his legs for the first time in probably hours—he’s had them folded up to his chest for a long time now. He looks up at the ceiling, and the back of his head hits the headboard with a thump. So things have taken an unexpected turn. A really fucking unexpected turn. He realizes that he feels way better about things already.

He’s had this same feeling before, on that first day of school, when Evan offered to be friends with him. He had this same feeling after apologizing to Zoe. And he has this same feeling when he’s around Evan sometimes, just getting to be in the other boy’s presence.

It’s hope, he realizes. He’s feeling fucking _hopeful._ And it’s nice. He kind of wants to tell someone about it, so he sends Evan a text, and then Zoe too, because why the fuck not?

 

 **Connor:** so a weird thing happened with my mom today

 **Evan:** good weird or bad wierd?

 **Evan:** weird*

 **Connor:** weird*

 **Connor:** fuck you beat me to it

 **Evan:** :p

 **Evan:** but ??

 **Connor:** ok ok so i was feeling really weird after we talked about all that stuff today

 **Evan:** omg nooo I’m really sorry, I didn’t know! you should have said something

 **Connor:** shh it’s fine dude. let me finish

 **Evan:** dksflsfj ok sorry I’ll wait till you’re done to reply sorry

 **Connor:** so like basically my mom and i talked about the possibility of art school

 **Connor:** and she said she’s gonna try to talk to my dad about it

 **Connor:** that’s all

 **Connor:** lmao

 **Evan:** connor that’s!! Great!!

 **Evan:** I’m really happy for you

 **Evan:** I hope it all works out. you deserve it

 **Connor:** this is too sappy for me

 **Connor:** but thanks

 **Connor:** for saying that but also for like. believing in me and shit

 **Evan:** of course!!?

 **Evan:** wanna hang out tomorrow?

 **Connor:** yes

 **Connor:** i can pick you up at like 2?

 **Evan:** orchard?

 **Connor:** [thumbs up emoji] [tree emoji]

 

 **Connor:** hey so mom just told me she’s gonna talk to dad about art school???

 **Zoe:** [smiling emoji] [hang ten emoji] [hang ten emoji] [flower bouquet emoji] [party popper emoji]

 **Zoe:** [paint palette emoji] [hand drawing emoji] [framed painting emoji]

 **Zoe:** [champagne glasses emoji]

 **Connor:** uh

 **Zoe:** clink clink bitch

 **Connor:** ……ok

 **Connor:** hows ALANA tonight

 **Zoe:** she’s fine she says clink clink bitch

 **Connor:** yeah ok bye. going to bed

 **Zoe:** [flower bouquet emoji] [champagne glasses emoji]

 **Connor:** [middle finger emoji] night

 **Zoe:** [middle finger emoji] [upside down smiley face emoji] bye

 **Connor:** [eye roll emoji] [champagne glasses emoji]

 **Zoe:** AYYY [champagne glasses emoji]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi it's my birthday so I wanted to post something real quick!
> 
> I'm very tired so sorry if there are any mistakes lol I'll probably go through and edit this properly in the morn
> 
> thanks for reading!! please comment (your thoughts, feelings, feedback, etc) (and/or best of all, your favorite parts!!) because comments make me unbelievably happy. 
> 
> see you in a few days! updates might take a little longer because we're sort of nearing the end and part of me doesn't want to rush it u feel. anyways yeah and if ur not already, follow me on tumblr @jaredklein


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alana is helpful. Zoe has a question.

A few days later, Alana is over and Connor’s being a dick. He knows he is, but he could not possibly care less.

“What’s your problem today?” She asks with a frown.

“He’s just grumpy because he’s trying to get his portfolio together for college apps,” Zoe tells her. “And he only has a few days till the deadline.”

Alana perks up immediately. “Oh!” She exclaims, and Connor pictures a light bulb turning on above her head. “I can help with that if you want! My dad is an art teacher.”

“Her dad is an art teacher,” Zoe says solemnly, eyes wide.

God, she’s so annoying sometimes. Also, it’s a testament to how far they’ve come in the last couple of months that he only thinks she’s annoying _sometimes._

“No thanks,” he mutters, but then somehow—he doesn’t know how the hell it happens—he ends up on the couch next to Alana, and she has his laptop and is clicking through and offering feedback like _up the brightness on this one, rearrange the order so this comes after that one, you want to start and end with your strongest work._ And then suddenly, she stops short and gasps. Literally gasps. “Zoe,” she says, waving her over, “Come here, you _have_ to see this.”

Zoe gets up from her spot in front of the TV—she’s watching some old episode of Spongebob while doing her homework—to see what she’s talking about. She looks at the screen, then at Connor, then stares at the screen again. “ _Dude,_ ” she says.

“What?” He snaps, irritated and a little self-conscious. He doesn’t need them judging his shit.

He snatches the laptop back. They’re looking at his favorite piece—the painting of Evan he finished a while ago. He’s in the orchard, standing among the trees, head turned to show off his handsome profile. The sunlight turns his hair golden, and the shadows of leaves across his shirt are immaculate, and the colors are vibrant and it’s a _great piece,_ to be honest. He’s proud as fuck of it. “What’s wrong with it?”

Alana shakes her head, smiling wide. “Nothing,” she says, and if it were anyone else Connor would think they were lying, but. It’s Alana. Everything she does and says is annoyingly earnest.

“Has he seen this?” Zoe asks.

“No,” Connor says uneasily. “Why?”

He’s thinking about the possibility of it making Evan uncomfortable, but then remembers the way he reacted to Connor’s sketchbook, and pushes that thought aside.

“Never mind,” they respond in unison, exchanging a knowing sort of glance. Connor wants to strangle them both. He lets them know this, and Zoe rolls her eyes.

“Asshole,” she says, as Alana tells him, “You’re so dramatic.” She takes the laptop back, then pats the spot next to her. “You need to resize this next one,” she says as he sits down.

“Why are you so determined to help me with this?” He questions, eyes narrowed.

She shrugs, but her cheeks flush slightly.

“Spit it the fuck out, Alana,” he says, unnecessarily mean, but whatever. Zoe turns around to glare at him.

Alana stares resolutely at the screen. “I just—I feel bad,” she starts. Which, what the hell?

“The fuck,” he says, suddenly seeing red. “If this is like, pity help, I don’t fucking need it.”

“No!” She says, eyes wide, shaking her head quickly. “That’s not what I meant. Just, I really _want_ to help and on top of that I can't stop thinking about this one time when Zoe was really mad at you, and we dumped your nail polishes down the sink, and—I still feel really bad about it. I thought maybe if I helped with this I could get it off my conscience. Sorry. I know it's dumb and doesn't really make sense. I honestly do want to help you, I swear.”

Connor blinks, taking that in, and then a laugh bubbles out of him as his anger dissipates, because that’s the funniest thing he’s heard all week. It’s such a dumb little thing, and it happened like _two years_ ago. She’s unbelievable. “What the hell,” he says, shaking his head. “You were in on that?”

Zoe snorts, messing with the TV remote.

“Also,” he continues, examining his nails. “You guys did a really bad job. It dried on the bottom of the sink and got all stuck. Mom was so mad.”

“Sorry,” Alana says seriously.

Zoe says, “Dude. You think that wasn’t the plan?”

Connor chucks a cushion at her head, and she dodges it with a yelp.

And then he settles back on the couch, in a slightly better mood and resigned to the fact that Alana Beck will probably not rest or let _him_ rest until this portfolio is ready and perfect.

 

-

 

“Do you like Evan?” Zoe demands, bursting into his room later that day.

Connor looks up from his book, hoping with his entire being that he isn’t blushing, because that would automatically give him away. “Do I like Evan,” he echoes, completely monotone.

“Yes, Evan. Evan Hansen.”

“Who?”

She narrows her eyes at him. “You know, the fact that you’re deflecting the question isn’t really helping your case.”

“Why do I feel like I’m on trial,” he mutters, closing the book. “Look, if you’re asking if I like him, like, romantically—”

“Well, _duh."_

“Shut the fuck up. I don’t, okay? I don’t like him like that.” He’s starting to get a little panicked now, because she’s shifting from foot to foot and smirking like she doesn’t believe a word he’s saying, so he keeps going, “I mean, I like guys but I don’t like _Evan._ We’re just friends, and I don’t—I’ve never even looked at a guy in my entire life. Dad is the only man in my life. I mean—oh, fuck.” He almost hits himself in the face with the book. “Fucking...”

“Oh my god,” Zoe says with a shit-eating grin.

“Fuck,” he says again. _Dad is the only man in your life? Seriously? Fucking seriously?_ If his face wasn’t red before, it definitely is now.

Zoe leaves his room laughing louder than he’s ever heard her laugh before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's short but!! another connor chapter!
> 
> sorry for the long wait. to make up for it, and also because mike faist leaves deh today, I'll post another chapter later tonight. comment, leave kudos, and stay tuned!!


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe has a question part two. Evan asks Jared for his opinion on something.

Evan is sitting in his room with a Murphy sibling on either side of him, painting his nails.

He’s not sure how he ended up here, or how exactly they got him to agree to it. One second they were showing up at the front door, Zoe knocking loudly, and then the next, they were pulling nail polish bottles out of a little makeup bag and asking him what color he wanted.

“We’re corrupting you,” Connor says. His head is bent, and he’s poking his tongue out in concentration. Evan stares at the top of his head. His hair is messy, but it looks soft. “First weed, now nail polish—”

Evan laughs. “Okay, one of those things is definitely worse than the other, so.”

“Bad influences,” Zoe tsks, ignoring him. She wipes a streak of blue away from his cuticle.

“Sorry my nails are so gross,” he says after a while, because he needs to acknowledge that he _knows_ his nails are gross—they’re bitten down to the quick, and there are lots of tiny, angry red lines around them from pulling hangnails too far—and because he can’t handle the quiet right now, even if it’s a comfortable silence. He has the urge to crack his knuckles, to wring his hands, but he can’t. His fingers twitch.

Connor rolls his eyes, but when he meets Evan’s gaze, his expression goes soft. “My nails look weird without nail polish too,” he tells him. (It’s true, Evan thinks, remembering how Connor’s hands looked kind of naked without it.) He brushes the pad of his thumb over Evan’s knuckles, and Evan’s heart absolutely melts, and he can’t bring himself to say another word. Zoe clears her throat, and they look away from each other. Connor is blushing, and Evan can feel his own face heating up as well.

“I still can’t believe you’re better at this than I am,” Zoe mutters under her breath. Connor snorts. Evan peers down at his hands. He doesn’t really see how she thinks she’s bad at it, because it seems fine to him. (Except her own fingers are kind of covered in blue, from the many times she’s messed up.)

“Looks good to me,” Evan voices with a smile.

“You finish it, Connor,” she says, sitting back on her heels.

Connor glances over. “You only have his pinkie left,” he says, unimpressed.

“I can’t do it,” she says with a dramatic sigh. “Too much pressure.”

He rolls his eyes again and moves closer. He folds one leg up against his chest, then takes Evan’s other hand and rests it on top of his knee. He brushes the nail polish over Evan’s pinkie nail quickly, then says with a flourish, “There.”

Evan examines his nails happily. He picked out a periwinkle color, and it looks nice. He’s kind of worried about what people will think, but...the people who actually matter to him won’t care whether or not he’s wearing nail polish.

(And that thought feels like...something. Growth, maybe.

Improvement.)

“Thanks guys,” he says, grinning a little.

Connor ducks his head as he screws the top onto the bottle of nail polish, and his hair falls over his face, and then he says, “Uh, I’m gonna go pee.” He stands up in one quick, graceful motion, and leaves Evan’s room.

Zoe’s rolling her eyes at the ceiling. Evan continues staring at his nails.

“Hey,” she says suddenly.

Evan looks up and smiles uneasily. “Hey?”

“Are you and my brother, like, a thing?”

Evan furrows his eyebrows. She can’t mean what he thinks she means. Right? “What?” he says.

“Dude. You know.” When Evan shakes his head, heart hammering, she sighs and says, “Are you guys like. Secretly dating.”

Evan sputters, feeling his cheeks heat up. He resists the urge to flail his arms, because he doesn’t want to touch anything and mess up the nail polish while it’s still drying. “No, what, we’re not—I mean sure we’re close but not—not like _that,_ we’re just! Friends!”

Zoe stares at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed. His shoulders are tensed and he’s hunched over, feeling exposed and awkward as she searches his face. Finally, she raises her eyebrows, looks off to the side, and says, “Okay, well, you know, it’s weird, because when I asked _him_ —”

“You _asked Connor_?” Evan all but shrieks, and then he screws his eyes shut with embarrassment. He needs to calm down. _You’re so stupid. She definitely isn’t going to believe you when you’re acting like this. Crap. She totally knows you like him. You’re just confirming it for her._

“Yeah, and he had pretty much the same reaction you’re having? He got all flustered and said something weird about our dad, and I was like—” Zoe cuts herself off with a laugh, then tilts her head and says, “You guys are weird.”

Connor comes back in, then, and he takes one look at Evan and narrows his eyes at Zoe. “What did you do?”

She throws her hands up in the air. “Why do you think I did something?”

“His face is all red.”

“That’s just his face,” Zoe says.

Evan nods vigorously. “Just my face.”

Connor looks between the two of them, mouth twitching slightly, and then he mutters, “Fine,” and settles back down on the floor next to them. Zoe lays around, doing homework on Evan’s laptop, and he tries not to feel bad about it because his laptop is so old and crappy and he knows that she has the newest Macbook, and, well. It’s hard not to compare. Meanwhile, Connor looks up photos of trees on his phone to show him. It’s weird and silly, but Evan loves that Connor does this whenever they have nothing better to do, just because _Evan_ likes trees.

They’re sitting side by side, backs against the bedframe, and Evan could probably lean his head on Connor’s shoulder, if he wanted to—that’s how close they are. He tries not to think about this, and looks down at his nails, resisting the urge to pick at them now that they look so nice.

Connor nudges him. He’s showing Evan another picture.

“Bonsai,” Evan says, and Connor grins. His left dimple makes an appearance. Evan tries very hard not to stare, tries very _very_ hard not to think about poking it with his finger, because _that would be so weird, oh my god, who does that?_

Zoe looks up from the laptop and makes an annoyed sound. Evan ignores her, and thinks back to the way Connor glanced over at him in the car when he said “ _I like guys,”_ the way Connor told him to hold his hand, the way he called Evan cute. And he starts to think that maybe, just maybe, Connor could like him back.

 

-

 

Here’s the thing. It’s crazy, and ridiculous, and it makes absolutely no sense. Evan _knows_ it makes no sense. He still can’t see why anyone would like him even as a friend, much less in a romantic way.

But like. The facts are kind of all there, and they add up, even though he doesn’t understand why or how.

So he does something really stupid, but definitely not as stupid as confessing his feelings to Connor.

He asks Jared for his opinion.

Evan approaches him at his locker after school, and the other teen greets him with surprising cheerfulness. “‘Sup, tree boy.” Then he sort of goes pale and fumbles, almost dropping a textbook. “Uh, I mean...”

Evan doesn’t really have time for Jared’s weird guilt right now. “Yeah, hey,” he says in a rush, “Do you think that—um.”

“What?”

“Just please don’t make fun of me, but—”

Jared snorts. “Start over.”

Evan takes a deep breath and tries not to be annoyed, and then blurts out, “Okay so. I like Connor. I have a huge crush on him.” Jared’s expression at this doesn’t change aside from the fact that he raises his eyebrows a little like he’s unimpressed, which kind of irritates Evan even more. He continues anyway. “And I think that maybe—I mean, possibly, theoretically, _maybe._..he likes me too. But I don’t know, that seems crazy, right? Like, I don’t even have any real reason to _think_ that, except for, well, a few tiny things, but just. I need a second opinion. Or just like any opinion other than my own.”

“Okay,” Jared says slowly. “First of all, holy fucking shit, _Connor?_ I hope you know I’m never letting this go. And secondly...” He looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “It doesn’t seem _that_ crazy. But what made you think he might feel the same? Like, specifically.”

“Um.” Evan swallows. He just _knows_ that his face has gone red. “There was this one time when we were high and held hands—”

Jared chokes on his gum. “You _what?_ ” He yells, and then he swallows, and they both wince. “Fuck, Evan, I just fucking swallowed gum because of you. You got _high_? _You?"_

“Yes, it was like the day before that time you brought me Taco Bell,” Evan says impatiently, twisting the bottom of his shirt in his hands. “I only did it once. Anyways we held hands and—and fell asleep like that? And then there was this one time he might have been flirting with me, but we were both really awkward about it. And the other day Zoe said some things that made me think maybe...you know. And his sketchbook is—a lot of the drawings in there are of me. I don’t know. Am I just reading too much into things?”

Jared barks out a laugh. “Oh my god, dude, _no._ Just the first thing _alone_ would have been enough for me to say that there’s definitely something there. Which, also, _fuck,_ we still need to talk about the fact that you got high with Connor Murphy.”

“Why do you still—refer to him like that?” Evan asks, frustrated. “You’re sort of friends with him now too, so stop acting like he’s still some—some freak to you.”

“Woah, chill. I did not mean it that way. It’s his _name,_ dude.”

 _Maybe you were overreacting. Maybe you’re just too sensitive today._ “Sorry,” Evan mumbles, staring down at his feet. His shoes look gross next to Jared’s nice white Adidas.

Jared sighs. “It’s fine. Jesus.” He adjusts his glasses. “So how are you gonna ask him out?”

“What?” Evan laughs.

“He clearly has feelings for you, and you like him, so...what are you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing,” Evan says firmly. When Jared raises an eyebrow, he frowns and adds, “Seriously, Jared, I don’t wanna ruin anything. He’s my—” He barely stops himself from saying _best,_ because he kind of has a feeling Jared wouldn't take that too well.“—friend and I want it to stay like that. Please promise me you won’t say anything to him.”

Jared sighs again, this time louder. “Fine.”

“Or to anyone else. And please don’t interfere in any other...way.”

“Ugh, dude, _fine_. I solemnly swear I won’t mess with your weird thing with Connor.”

Evan nods, trying to convince himself that it’s enough, and looks at the textbook in Jared’s hand. “Since when are you in Psych?”

To his confusion, Jared immediately goes beet-red. “Uh, this isn’t mine.”

There are a few awkward seconds where they just stare at each other.

“Whose is it?”

“Unimportant.” Jared shuts his locker. “Do you want a ride home?”

“Um, okay, sure,” Evan says, bemused.

They walk to the parking lot in silence. When they get to the car, Jared can’t find his keys. “Can you hold this?” He shoves the textbook and his water bottle into Evan’s hands, then takes his backpack off and rummages around in it.

Evan opens the textbook to read the most recent name under “issued to.” He’s surprised when he finds it. It’s not exactly what he was expecting.

“Matt Holtzer?” He asks as Jared finally unlocks the car.

Jared rubs his forehead and gestures for Evan to get in. He looks more embarrassed than annoyed. “Yeah.”

“Why do you have his textbook? I mean, you don’t have to tell me, obviously, just…”

“You got me,” Jared mumbles, plugging his phone into the AUX. “I took it when he wasn’t looking.”

Evan furrows his eyebrows. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Why did you steal his textbook?”

“I didn’t—I’m gonna give it _back._ That’s the thing. It’s all part of my plan to get into his pants.”

“You stole Matt’s textbook because you want to—get into his pants?” Evan says incredulously. Some ABBA song is playing as Jared drives out of the parking lot.

“Oh my god, it’s not stealing if you give it back,” he snaps. “And you’re not one to talk, Mr. 'I like Connor but I'm too much of a wimp to do anything about it.'”

Evan starts to shrink into himself a little, but then he forces himself to square his shoulders and says, “I’m sorry if I was, um, pushing, but I guess I’m just confused about the whole thing? I didn’t know you were even friends with him."

Jared shrugs, jaw clenched. “We’ve been hanging out more this year. I dunno.”

“Oh," Evan says. Then, still feeling brave, he adds, "Also, if you're gonna give me shit for liking Connor, then—I can do the same about Matt."

Jared doesn't respond.

But when they pull up in front of Evan’s house a few minutes later, he clears his throat and says, “Sorry for, like, snapping at you or whatever. I’m still working on that.”

Evan smiles at him, something in his chest feeling like it’s expanding. “It’s okay," he says. "See you tomorrow?”

“Yup.” Jared shoots finger guns at him, and then waits till he’s inside the house before he drives away, which Evan thinks is nice of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it really a deh fic if there isn't nail polish involved?
> 
> thanks for reading! please comment (your thoughts, favorite parts, constructive criticism, feelings about mike leaving today) (I'm a fucking wreck about it) because comments make me ridiculously happy! and follow me on tumblr @jaredklein 
> 
> also!!! I posted another fic while I was taking a break from this one. it's a short au where evan has healing powers and you should read it please and thanks. I'm also working on like four other fics right now so be on the lookout for those.
> 
> big things coming in chapter? 27?? yeah. 
> 
> >:-) see you all soon


	26. Chapter 26

Jared has taken to picking arguments with Alana at lunch. It’s honestly kind of worrying, but Evan tries to tell himself that Jared’s not serious about it, just messing around. And anyway, she seems like she doesn’t mind getting to rant about things she cares about. Jared will throw himself down into a chair and say, “Okay, but do we really need civil liberties?” or, “So what _is_ it with feminists these days?” or simply, “Gun control. Go.”

She goes along with it for about a week and a half before she snaps.

“I get that you like to act like you don’t care about anything, but the fact that you, a straight white boy, keep getting me to argue with you just because you think it’s funny, or—or for your entertainment, is messed up. So cut it out.”

(She’s always so upbeat, and Evan’s always thought that nothing could ever bother her. She’s got, like, armor made out of positivity and enthusiasm for everything and a 4.0 GPA. So this, right now, is kind of a shock to him.

But then again, he used to think the same sort of thing about Jared, except his armor would be made out of snarky comments and bad jokes. Anyway. Maybe Evan needs to just stop assuming things about people.)

Connor leans away from the table, tipping his chair backwards, and whistles. Evan’s hands are too warm. He does not like conflict and he does not want his friends to fight even though Jared probably deserves to be called out.

Jared blinks. “Well shit. I do care about—I _like_ hearing you talk about that crap, that’s why I say those things, not because I’m _mocking_ you—”

“Oh,” says Alana, letting her shoulders relax. “Sorry. Just—it’s been a really strange day.”

Jared nods, looks down at his lunch, then nods some more, and coughs awkwardly. When he speaks again, his voice is strained. “I should’ve. Realized how I was coming off, I guess. And next time I should just. I don’t fucking know, start conversations like...”

“Like a normal fucking person,” Connor supplies, voice too loud, and Evan winces.

Jared just nods some more. “And also. Uh. Not that it matters, and not to make this about me at all, but," he jabs his thumb into his chest, eyes still on his sandwich, "Not straight.”

Alana’s eyes widen. So do Evan’s. Connor’s chair slams forward, so that all four legs are on the ground again.

“Oh, Jared, I am _so_ sorry,” Alana says earnestly.

“It’s—fine. And you were right about everything else, so like. Don’t apologize to me. _I’m_ the dick.”

“Still. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Connor’s eyebrows are raised so high they’re practically in his hairline. It’s that moment that Zoe finally arrives, cheerful as ever, and then she looks around at their expressions and furrows her eyebrows. “What’s going on?” She asks tentatively, taking a seat next to Alana.

No one seems to know how to answer this.

“I’m a lesbian, Jared,” Alana says, and Evan picked the wrong time to take a sip of water, because it goes down the wrong way and he starts coughing immediately. (Why does he seem to choke every time someone comes out to him?)

Connor laughs hard, thumping him on the back a few times. “Way to break the tension, dude.”

Evan coughs once more and grimaces. “S-Sorry.”

Zoe says, “Okay, what the hell did I _miss_?”

“I came out in a really weird way and Alana felt bad and chose to come out to us in an _equally_ weird way, I guess,” Jared says, and he doesn’t look so uncomfortable or guilty anymore. He’s started in on his sandwich.

“You’re gay?” Zoe asks, opening that Captain America lunchbox. The question is directed toward Jared. She didn’t seem surprised at Alana’s confession, so Evan thinks she probably already knew. If the two of them have been friends for a few years, it makes sense that Zoe would be aware of something like that.

“Bi,” Jared says. “I think.”

“Hey, me too!” Zoe exclaims. He raises his eyebrows at her.

“Um. Me too?” Evan speaks up.

“Okay, knew that,” Jared says dismissively, and Evan makes an indignant noise.

“What? No you didn’t!”

“Dude, there were _several_ times in freshman year P.E. when you walked into things while staring at guys’ butts. Doors, walls, the bleachers, you name it—Evan Hansen has walked into that shit while picturing himself pressed up against some skinny underclassman’s ass.”

Evan’s cheeks heat up, because it’s _embarrassing,_ and also because that’s weirdly specific, and maybe he has a type? Zoe is covering her mouth and laughing, and next to her, Alana is smiling down at her lunch box. Connor, for some reason, is blushing.

Evan wonders for a brief second what that’s about.

Jared leans forward, eyes bright. “Wait. Does this mean that _none of us_ is straight?” He gestures at Connor with his sandwich. “What about you?”

Connor rolls his eyes. “Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but yeah, not straight either. And kinda offended that you assumed I was.”

“Well, shit,” Jared says with a particularly wolfish grin. “Day _made_.”

Alana laughs and pats him on the arm.

 

-

 

“Hey guys,” Alana says. It’s the next day, between third and fourth period. She’s approached Evan, Connor, and Jared at Connor’s locker, and is practically bouncing up and down with excitement. “So, you know Sabrina Patel?” The three of them just blink at her. She barrels on undeterred. “Well, her birthday is this weekend, and...”

She trails off suddenly, staring down the hallway.

Evan follows her gaze to the stairs, where Zoe is descending. She skips the last step, loses her balance a little, and then just sort of smiles to herself, like she doesn’t even care if anyone sees her trip and fall. She’s wearing loose, floral pants and a T-shirt, and her hair is in a french braid. She looks soft and pretty.

“Oh my god she’s so cute,” Alana breathes as Zoe comes over, and Evan shrugs and nods, and then thinks it’s funny how all it takes for Alana to stop talking is Zoe walking in.

Jared seems to be thinking the same thing. “The next time she won’t shut up, I’m yelling Zoe’s name and then making a break for it as soon as Alana turns to look for her,” he muses.

“Hey,” Zoe greets her with a grin. Alana beams. Evan thinks they’re both blushing. It’s ridiculous, and he feels incredibly fond of them.

Next to him, Connor mimes gagging.

Jared waves a hand in front of Zoe. “Hellooo.”

Zoe flips him off, but she seems to snap out of it, looking away from Alana.

“You were saying, um, about Sabrina Patel?” Evan prompts.

“Right! Sorry.” Alana adjusts the straps of her backpack. “So it’s her birthday this weekend, and she’s having a party, and—”

“You’re friends with Sabrina Patel?” Jared asks, but he has that look on his face that says he’s messing with her. She doesn’t quite catch it.

“Acquaintances,” Alana says immediately, at the same time that Zoe mouths “acquaintances” next to her, trying not to laugh. Evan lets himself grin.

“I hate this conversation,” Connor lets them all know, observing his nails intently.

“ _Anyways,_ she’s having a party, and invited me, and said I could bring some friends if I want—”

“You have friends?” Jared interrupts again.

“Jared,” she says, frowning slightly.

“What?” He says innocently, then widens his eyes. “Wait. Are you saying _we’re_ your—no. _Really?_ No! _I_ thought we were all just acquaintances.”

“You’re being a dick again,” Connor tells him. “Tone it down.”

Zoe gives her brother a strange look, as Jared raises his hands and says, “Okay, okay, sorry. We’re totally crashing that party though, right?”

Evan suddenly feels itchy and uncomfortable all of a sudden, and he’s not entirely sure why. “It’s not—it’s not crashing if we’re _invited._ ”

Alana nods like _yes, Evan’s made a very good point._

“We’re all going,” Zoe says. When Connor raises his eyebrows at her and scoffs, she crosses her arms. “What? I wanna go to a Cool High School Party.”

“Oh yeah, you missed the party Evan and Jared had back in October,” Alana recalls.

“That was not a party,” Evan and Connor say in unison. They glance at each other, and Connor cracks a smile—a tiny one, meant just for Evan.

“Whatever,” Jared says. “But like. Maybe don’t get your hopes up. I mean, it’s Sabrina Patel, how ‘cool’ can her party be?” At Zoe and Alana’s unimpressed looks, he adds quickly, “No offense. She’s great.”

The warning bell rings, and Connor turns to Evan. “Come on, I’ll walk you to English.”

“Dude, isn’t your class in the opposite direction?” Jared asks him with a snort.

“Yeah,” Evan says to Connor, stomach fluttering. “I don’t know why you always...I mean, you really don’t have to—”

“It’s fine. I already have like twelve tardies in every class,” Connor replies flippantly.

“I wonder why,” Zoe deadpans, smirking.

“Fuck off,” Connor says with a grin, and then to Jared, “You too, fuckface.”

Jared makes a mock offended noise as they separate from the rest of the group.

“I’ll text you all about the party,” Alana calls before disappearing around the corner. Evan smiles despite that uneasy sort of feeling in his stomach—or maybe because of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm a lesbian, Jared" my senior quote
> 
> uploading this from my phone so sorry if there's any formatting issues! I'm gonna edit properly in the morning when I'm less lazy
> 
> please comment (the more u comment, the more likely I am to write and post new stuff!) and follow me on tumblr @jaredklein. hmu on there if u wanna talk about the deh kiddos or headcanons or just. anything tbh!! I love getting messages (if u fuckign couldn't tell by now lmao)
> 
> thanks for reading!! <3


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for: a cliche high school party, irresponsible drinking, mentions of drug use, homophobia, a homophobic slur, and mild violence. if I'm missing anything, please let me know and I'll add it

Jared could not have been more wrong about Sabrina Patel’s birthday party.

It’s not _exactly_ like the kind they show on TV and in movies, where the house is packed with drunk, sweaty teenagers and you can’t hear anyone, but...it’s close.

There are a lot of people. The music is kind of loud only in the living room, and everyone is talking at a relatively normal volume. The kitchen, however, is a lot rowdier—there are a few guys trying and failing to shotgun beers, and Evan sees a kid from his Pre-Cal class doing a keg-stand, and thinks _yep, I hate this!_

Connor’s hand is on Evan’s arm. He looks equally uncomfortable.

“Wanna go outside?” Evan asks. “It looks like there’s less people in the backyard.”

Connor nods and leads the way. As usual, he only makes it there in a few strides, while Evan has to fast-walk to catch up, cursing those impossibly long legs.

There’s a small group of people sitting at the edge of the pool, talking and gesturing wildly. They’re surrounded by plastic cups. The skunky smell of weed hangs in the air. It’s a cold night, and Evan starts shivering as soon as they step out onto the back porch. Wordlessly, Connor takes off his hoodie and passes it to him, even though Evan’s already wearing a sweater, and now Connor is the one shivering because he only has a thin T-shirt on. Before Evan can protest, Connor begins scowling in the direction of the pool.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” he mutters, crossing his arms and turning so that his back is to the people sitting by the water. Evan thinks Connor’s face has gone a little red.

“What?” He asks tentatively.

“Nothing, just.” Connor sighs. “Can we go back in? It’s cold.”

Evan glances back, then looks down at Connor’s hoodie in his hands, confused. “Um, okay, sure.”

He opens the door, but then someone behind them is saying, “Murphy? Dude, the fuck are you doing here?”

Connor’s shoulders tense, and he turns around with his jaw set like he’s prepared for a fight. “I came with Alana.”

The guy squints. He’s dark-skinned and lanky, and Evan thinks he’s seen him around at school before. “How the hell do you know Alana?”

“She’s friends with my sister,” Connor says through gritted teeth.

“Huh,” is all the guy says. “Well, get over here, we’re trying to roll this shit and you’re probably way better at it, let’s be honest.”

The people next to him laugh and jeer. Connor meets Evan’s eye, then replies, “Uh, no thanks. We were actually just heading in.”

“But you just came out,” another guy says. He looks kind of like the first guy—dark-skinned with a wiry frame. There’s even more snickering and laughter.

“Good one,” says a girl wearing a baseball cap, and high-fives the guy.

Evan feels sick as he stares at Connor, who has that wild sort of look in his eyes. He can’t tell if it’s anger or fear or maybe a mix of both. Whatever it is, it’s concerning. “Come on,” Evan says quietly, reaching up to arrange the hoodie over Connor’s shoulders. He keeps a hand on Connor’s elbow as he steers him inside.

Many more people have arrived in the past ten minutes or so. Evan and Connor end up in the living room, where it’s crowded but still not as bad as the kitchen. Zoe and Jared are on the couch with Sabrina and some guy who has his arm around her. Jared has a plastic cup in his hand. He sees them and grins, waving them over. Evan smiles back but shakes his head apologetically, and then turns to Connor.

“Who was that?” He asks.

“My dealer,” says Connor, looking anywhere but at Evan. “His name’s Ammar.”

“Oh,” Evan says, trying to make sense of that. “And the other guy?”

“Yousef. His brother.”

Evan thinks about the coming out comment, the way everyone laughed like it was hilarious. Evan is ninety percent sure that Connor is only out to him, Zoe, Alana, and Jared. “What did he mean by—I mean, how did he know that you’re—”

“I don’t fucking know, Evan, and I don’t want to,” Connor snaps. Evan flinches. Connor closes his eyes and breathes in and out through his nose, nostrils flaring in a way that should absolutely _not_ be attractive, but it is. “Sorry. Fuck. I’m really sorry. Just—this was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have come.”

Evan remembers Connor saying, _“I’m the school freak.”_

That’s how Connor sees himself.

It isn’t fair.

“You, um, wanna get a drink, maybe?” Evan asks with a hesitant smile, trying to change the subject, and Connor raises his eyebrows.

“Seriously?”

“You regularly smoke—” Evan lowers his voice to a whisper. “— _weed,_ Connor. One beer isn’t going to hurt, right? C’mon.”

Connor laughs and replies at the same volume, “Remember what Zoe and I said about being bad influences on you?”

“Hey,” Evan protests, “you’re not the one convincing me to do this. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around.”

Connor throws his hands up in the air. “Fine, I’ll have a drink with you, but only because you seem really set on this and I don’t want you getting drunk by yourself. That would be no fun.”

Evan chews on his fingernail, then tastes the nail polish and drops his hand to his side. “No one’s getting _drunk,_ ” he says.

Connor makes a vague gesture toward all the wasted teenagers in the kitchen as if to say _are you sure about that?_

Honestly, Evan doesn’t know what he’s thinking. He probably should have learned from his experience with weed that no one in the world needs an intoxicated Evan Hansen. Especially Evan Hansen. _Especially_ when said drug is mixed with his meds.

But he weirdly really wants to try alcohol, and he’s having that same rebellious sort of feeling again. Maybe it’s just recklessness. Whatever it is, he’s indulging it—even though he knows he shouldn’t.

He elbows Connor as they make their way to the counter where all the cups are. “We’re not, okay? Seriously. Just one drink.”

Connor nods solemnly. Evan kind of wants to roll his eyes, but instead he smiles and grabs two cups, handing Connor one of them. The other teen looks unsure of what to do with it.

Evan stares at him. “Why are you acting like you’ve never had alcohol before?”

Connor’s grip tightens around the cup. Just a little, but enough for Evan to notice and regret saying anything about it. _God, why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut?_

“Because I _haven’t,_ ” Connor says. “Despite what people say about me, I’m not some wild crazy person who’s like, always high and shit.”

“Sorry,” Evan says, biting his lip. He wishes things were different for them both.

High school really sucks.

Connor sighs. He’s looking at a large bowl on the counter, which is filled up with ice and clear liquid. It smells weird, but kind of familiar, in a way. “Hey,” he says to some girl standing nearby. “What’s in this?”

“Vodka and lemonade, I think,” she replies.

Connor makes a face. Evan stifles a laugh.

There are some large bottles next to the punch bowl, and Evan eyes them warily. The girl follows his gaze and informs them that it’s some weird German champagne that Dana P.’s cousin brought, and that it tastes like shit.

Evan takes the cup from Connor and sets it back down on the counter, next to his own. “Do you see, like, beer anywhere, maybe?”

“There’s some in the fridge,” the girl says cheerfully. “But it’s still kinda warm because no one remembered to put it in till like an hour ago.”

“Thanks,” Evan tells her, and then Connor’s opening the fridge and passing him a can of beer. The girl goes back to her conversation with the guy from Evan’s Pre-Cal class, the one who was attempting a keg-stand earlier.

“Uh,” Connor says slowly, staring down at his own can.

“Let’s just—one sip, together? And if we don’t like it we don’t have to finish it?”

Connor nods, and then they both open their cans and drink—Connor taking a very small sip, and Evan gulping down entirely too much at once. Connor thumps him on the back when he starts coughing.

“I’m having deja vu,” he says dryly.

Evan laughs between coughs. “Shut up,” he says with a wobbly smile.

Connor grins and takes another sip.

After they finish their first cans, they each take another. But it stops there, because Evan likes how he’s feeling right now, and doesn’t want to ruin it. He’s delightfully buzzed, and it’s _almost_ kind of like being high but without all the weird thoughts and epiphanies. His body feels warm all over, in a nice, non-sweaty way.

Connor is just a little bit tipsier than he is. His face is flushed pink, and he looks more relaxed than Evan’s ever seen him. His arms are swaying loosely at his sides as he bobs his head to the music. (Currently, it’s some song by The Police. Whoever was in charge of the party playlist put a lot of ‘70s and ‘80s stuff on it. Jared probably approves.)

Evan can’t stop smiling at Connor. “You—you look like a baby giraffe,” he tells him loudly. “You’re so cute.”

Connor’s eyes get all crinkly in the corners, and he moves a little closer, so their shoulders press together.

Some more time goes by. They talk about everything and nothing for a while, and make fun of the people around them. Or, Connor does, and Evan tries very hard not to giggle at the things he says. After a while, they decide to join Zoe and Jared in the living room.

“Where’s Alana?” Evan has to sort of shout to be heard over the music, which is much louder now.

Jared shrugs and says, “Talking to people and shit.”

Zoe laughs. “Meanwhile, the two of us haven’t gotten up from this couch since we got here.”

Jared shrugs again. “She’s socializing enough for all of us,” he says with a grin. “Hey Connor, wanna play chopsticks?”

“The fuck is that?”

Evan watches, amused, as Jared shows him how to play the hand game from their childhood. Not long after that, someone hands Zoe a guitar, and Jared exclaims gleefully, “Evan, record this.”

“You do it,” Evan says, confused.

“I don’t know where my phone is!”

Evan thinks back to the lie Jared told his mom last month, about how they went to a party and Jared lost his phone. He takes a second to appreciate the irony before he takes out his phone, pulling up Snapchat.

“Anyway, here’s Wonderwall,” say Zoe, and begins strumming half-heartedly. Connor, seated next to her, puts his head in his hands, and Evan zooms in on him, hands shaking with the force of his laughter.

He doesn’t post the video anywhere, just saves it and sends it to their group chat. When Jared watches it, he snorts so hard that whatever he’s drinking comes out of his nose. Connor makes a disgusted face.

“That’s _gold_ ,” Jared tells Evan. “Thank you.”

After a while, Connor decides the music is too loud (though the problem, he says, isn’t that it’s loud music, but that it’s loud _shitty_ music) and they head back into the kitchen, where Alana finally makes an appearance.

“Have you been drinking?” she asks.

Connor, who is seated on the counter now, peers down at her and says, “We just had a couple of beers.”

“Connor, you _drove us here._ ”

Evan feels slightly panicked after being reminded of this, but then Connor rolls his eyes and asks her, “Have _you_ had anything to drink?”

She crosses her arms. “No.”

“Perfect, so then you can drive back!”

For some reason, Evan finds this hilarious. He laughs until his stomach hurts, and when he recovers, Connor has a huge grin on his face. Alana seems both amused and concerned at the same time.

“You’re such a lightweight, Evan,” she says, and then she’s shoving a glass of water into his hands. She turns to Connor, finger pointed at him accusingly. “Actually, both of you are. I’m officially cutting you off.”

Evan says, “I only had _two_ beers, Alana, and I wasn't planning on having any more.”

“No more, guys, seriously. Your parents are gonna freak if you go home wasted.”

At this, Evan chugs the entire glass of water in one go, because fuck, he’s not trying to get yelled at by his mom tonight.

When he finishes and wipes his mouth, Connor’s staring at him with wide eyes.

“ _Guys,_ ” Alana presses impatiently. She’s glancing back toward the living room, where Zoe’s still sitting on the couch. Jared isn’t there anymore.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Connor says distractedly. “We won’t drink anymore.”

She seems satisfied, and then they watch her leave the kitchen. She begins talking animatedly about something as she sits down next to Zoe, and Evan can’t see the look on Zoe’s face because her back is turned to them, but he can picture it. It’s probably the same way he looks at Connor.

“Evan,” Connor says, and Evan turns around to fully face him again. “Beer makes me sappy.”

“ _You?_ " Evan jokes. "But you hate sappy shit.”

Connor rolls his eyes, but his face is scrunched up like he’s trying very hard not to smile. It’s not working very well. “Can I, uh. I just wanna say something. Don’t laugh at me, okay?”

Evan’s heart melts. “I would never,” he says, completely serious.

Connor squirms a little, mouth ticking upwards. “I’m just, like. Really glad to have you. As a friend. You’re the best thing I’ve got in my life.”

“Connor…” Evan trails off.

“No, seriously, dude,” Connor insists. His voice sounds kind of thick. He clears his throat. “You mean a lot to me.”

Evan likes him _so much_. He has that strong urge to find a way to take this moment and capture it, bottle it up for safekeeping. Everything about it—from the weird smell of booze to the teenagers dancing clumsily behind them to the way the yellow kitchen light falls over Connor’s face, making his features softer, less striking than usual. It’s warm and pure and wonderful, and Evan can’t imagine ever being happier than he is right now. He thinks about Paramore and The Mountain Goats in Connor’s van, thinks about playing Sequence, thinks about watching movies with his mom. Thinks about fortune cookies that say _“Good things are coming.”_

He laughs nervously. “Me too. I mean, you—you mean a lot to me too.” He shoots a glance toward the living room. “You’re...the Zoe to my Alana. The Alana to my Zoe.”

He fights the urge to cringe, because one, who says stuff like that, and two, has he totally just given everything away? He meant it in a platonic way, but it’s so incredibly obvious to everyone that Alana and Zoe like each other as more than friends. Fuck. Does Connor know how he feels? Crap crap crap. Evan wishes they hadn’t promised Alana they wouldn’t drink anymore, because he kind of wants another beer now.

Connor just laughs and says, “Dude,” and then he’s reaching out his foot to nudge Evan closer, so that he’s sort of almost positioned between Connor’s legs. Those ridiculously long legs.

Evan looks up at him through his lashes, breath hitching because they’re _so close,_ and they’ve been close to each other before but not like _this_ , and oh god his palms are probably sweaty now, yep, they’re definitely sweaty, there’s no way they aren’t sweaty.

“Connor!”

The moment is broken.

Evan can’t tell whether he’s relieved or disappointed as he whirls around to see Jared running into the kitchen, glasses askew.

“You guys need to go,” Jared says urgently. “Like, right fucking now.”

Connor slides off of the countertop with an annoyed look, and he opens his mouth to say something, but then one of the guys from earlier, by the pool—Ammar? Or is it Yousef? Evan isn’t sure, they both looked extremely similar in the dark backyard—is striding in, and Connor shuts his mouth, now looking thoroughly pissed off.

“What’s going on?” Evan asks Jared, heart pounding in his ears.

“Um, so this asshole’s brother outed Connor and Zoe to everyone in the backyard just now,” Jared says, and Evan is taken aback at how furious he sounds. “He said something about how it turns out all the Murphys are freaks or fags or something, maybe both—which, can I just say, what the crap? It’s the twenty-first century, who the hell has time for homophobia anymore? Especially if you’re our age, like. This isn’t fucking Degrassi.” At Evan’s look, he blinks and continues, “Okay, anyway, and then _this_ guy’s all like, ‘where is that dickhead Connor anyway? He doesn’t buy drugs from me anymore, and also he didn’t roll a joint for me when I asked, or something, so I’m gonna go find him and punch him in his stupid ugly face.’”

Evan wonders, briefly, how much of this is what Ammar actually said, and how much of it is just Jared’s flair for the dramatic.

“Oh shit,” Jared says suddenly, eyes going wide, and Evan looks over just in time to see Ammar getting _slammed_ into the wall. Ammar lunges for Connor—who’s fast but not quite fast enough—and gets ahold of his shirt, and then time seems to move in slow motion as he _punches Connor in the face._

Evan’s ears are ringing. On an impulse, without another thought, he somehow elbows his way between them and shoves Ammar off of Connor, and then when Ammar tries to grab Connor again, Evan curls his hand into a fist and punches _him_ in the face, striking his chin.

There’s a crazy moment where Evan just stands there, eyes wide, blinking in horror as he stares at Ammar, who’s clutching his face and swearing loudly, and Evan looks down at his own hand and _oh god oh god_ —

There’s shouting and lots of noise, and someone is dragging him out of the kitchen, and then all of a sudden they’re outside and Evan just doubles over and retches into the bushes. _Sorry, Sabrina,_ he thinks as he wipes his mouth on his sleeve, feeling utterly disgusted with himself.

Someone’s hands are on his back. “Holy shit,” they say, and it’s Connor’s voice, it’s Connor, of course it is, and Evan wants to disappear because he’s so fucking embarrassed about everything he just did, from punching a guy, to vomiting in front of—he looks up blearily. Jared, Alana, and Zoe are there too.

So everyone. He just threw up in front of all his friends.

Evan gets to his feet, knees shaking a little. “Sorry,” he says miserably.

Connor’s staring at him in disbelief, and Jared barks out a laugh. “That was fucking _awesome,_ Evan, what the fuck.”

“We saw from the living room,” Zoe says, grinning. “Totally cliche, but awesome.”

“Are you seriously calling him cliche?”

“I’m just saying, this sort of thing happens at like every stereotypical high school party—”

“Yeah, in _movies_ —”

“Exactly! That’s what makes it a cliche!”

“That’s not a—”

“And you’re the one who wanted to go to a quote-unquote _Cool High School Party_ anyway—”

“I never said I was complaining, I just meant that—”

“Shut up!” Alana interrupts loudly, and Connor, Zoe, and Jared immediately fall silent. Alana is pinching the bridge of her nose. “We need to go. Fuck, Connor, your nose looks broken.”

It’s the first time Evan’s ever heard her swear, and he’s so shocked by it that he almost misses what she actually said. He yanks on Connor’s arm, turning him around so they’re face to face, and Evan almost has the urge to throw up again. Connor’s nose is purpling and swollen and the skin is broken and there’s blood drying on his face. “Oh my god, dude,” he says, voice shrill.

“You’re one to talk!” Connor says, matching his tone. He grabs Evan’s hand and lifts it to eye-level, as if to prove his point, and Evan lets out an involuntary bleat of pain because that _hurts._

“Okay, yeah, we’re going to the hospital,” Zoe states. “Everyone in the car. I’m driving.” Alana makes a small noise of protest, and Zoe rolls her eyes. “Relax, ‘lana, I didn’t have anything to drink.”

“We can’t go to the hospital!” Evan says, panic bubbling up in his chest. _We can’t go to the hospital we can’t we can’t because we’ll have to tell them how it all happened and we’ll have to tell them about the party and then they’ll know about the drinks and I only had two beers but that won’t matter because we’re_ underage _and we’re not supposed to be drinking, and they’ll tell Mom, and she’ll be so disappointed in me, even more disappointed than she already is_ —

“Great job, Zo, you gave him a panic attack,” Connor says, and then he’s taking Evan by the arm again and pushing him gently into the backseat of the van, saying, “Evan, it’s okay, you’re okay. Breathe.”

“This was such a bad idea,” Evan wheezes, hunching forward so that his head is between his knees. The car is moving, he thinks, and he’s sitting in the middle, with Connor on his left and Jared on his right.

“Yeah,” Connor agrees. The others, who actually _wanted_ to go to the party, choose not to say anything.

“We can’t go to the hospital,” Evan says again after a few minutes of silence. “Really, please, we—I can’t.”

“Evan, your hand could be broken. And something’s definitely wrong with Connor’s nose,” Zoe says. “I mean, it’s always been pretty fucked up, but this is a whole new level.”

“Fuck you,” Connor says half-heartedly.

“Is this about your mom?” Jared asks. “Because dude, it’s a big hospital, we probably won’t run into her. And if we do, then well...she’s gonna find out about this anyway when she sees your hand all cut up and shit. It looks gross, seriously, there’s no way you could hide it.” (Evan thinks, _I can try,_ and then thinks, _actually, she won’t notice if she’s never really around to see it_ — _which she isn’t.)_ “It’s better this way,” Jared adds. Evan thinks he’s trying to be comforting, which is strange. “You can see her and we’ll help explain what happened.”

Evan sniffles quietly, willing himself to not cry, because he’s already embarrassed himself enough tonight. There are a million other things to think about—like, for example, who the fuck told those assholes about Connor and Zoe's sexualities, because as far as Evan knows, they're only out to him and the other two people in their tiny group of friends—but right now his brain feels like it's stuck in a loop, endlessly cycling around the same fear over and over.

After they arrive at the hospital, everything sort of goes by in a blur. Evan gets his hand cleaned and looked at, and Connor gets his nose cleaned and looked at, and neither of them has any broken bones, but there are still lots of questions to answer and paperwork that takes too long. Alana and Jared take care of most of it as best as they can. Thankfully, they do not run into Evan’s mom. One less thing to worry about.

Evan tries not to think about how the last time he was in the ER, it was because he jumped out of a tree in an attempt to kill himself.

He’s not feeling actively _suicidal_ tonight, but that doesn’t mean he’s in a good enough headspace to be here dwelling on this shit.

By the time they’re cleared to go home, it’s almost one in the morning, and Evan is so exhausted that when they all clamber into the car, he doesn’t think twice about resting his head on Connor’s shoulder.

Connor goes rigid, and then relaxes. “You good?”

“Just tired,” Evan says quietly, because that’s easier to say than _I tried to kill myself back in August, and then again last month._ Easier to say than _I don’t think it’s possible to be happy and_ stay _happy._ Easier to say than _I’m kind of in love with you and it hurts even more than it hurt my hand when I punched your drug dealer in the face, and oh my god, I can’t believe I even did that._

Connor nods. And then he’s taking Evan’s hand, the uninjured one, and lacing their fingers together. He doesn’t notice the few tears that escape Evan’s eyes—or if he does, then he doesn’t say anything about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey this is another favorite chapter of mine!! it's long ish and a lot happens and I like rereading it (and chapter 21) when I need to motivate myself to write more for this fic lol
> 
> please comment your thoughts, feelings, favorite parts, etc. if u wanna make my whole day!!! and of course follow me on tumblr @jaredklein
> 
> I probably won't get to update again this week because it's finals week and then!! I graduate on friday!!! so the next time I post, I'll be a high school graduate u guys
> 
> !!! thanks for reading I love all of u gn


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe is a good sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another connor-centric chapter!! 
> 
> warnings for: mentions of/discussion of self harm. if I'm missing anything, please let me know and I'll add it

Connor is late to Pre-Cal. When he gets there, his teacher frowns at him and says, “We’re doing a pop quiz. Get out a sheet of notebook paper and do the problem I wrote on the board.”

He looks at the whiteboard at the front and seriously considers just walking right out of the room, because what the fuck, it’s only _one_ question, and it honestly looks like hieroglyphics to him.

He throws himself down into his seat and rummages around in his bag for some paper and a pencil. He’s not even making that much noise, but a couple of people turn around to glare at him.

He plasters a smile on his face and gives them the finger.

Ever since Sabrina fucking Patel’s party last weekend, everyone at school has been treating him like even more of a freak, somehow. Which he didn’t think was possible. For the most part it’s just been dirty looks in the hallways and the occasional brave asshole who’ll shove him on their way out of class. He hasn’t seen Ammar around lately, but whenever Yousef sees Evan and Connor in the hallway, he pales and immediately goes in the other direction. It’s kind of the best part of this whole shitshow.

He guesses that if he wants more weed, he has to find a new dealer. He’s not as pissed off about this as he thought he’d be, because surprisingly enough, he doesn’t think he really wants to smoke anymore.

(But if that changes, there’s enough left in the bag at the back of his closet to tide him over. Just in case he ever needs it.)

The cut on his nose has scabbed over by now, and the swelling has gone down. Now it’s just all mottled purple and yellow and. Gross. But whenever Evan looks at him and his eyes flicker to his nose, his gaze sort of softens in this way that makes Connor want to hold his hand again.

When he and Zoe got home that night after dropping their friends off, their parents had practically thrown a fit—mainly because it was almost three in the morning by then, and then on top of that, it was more than obvious that Connor had been punched in the face. He was pretty sure he was going to be grounded, but then Zoe stepped in and explained what happened (glossing over a few details, like the fact that he’d been drinking), and their dad calmed down a little. He even _apologized,_ in his own weird, vague sort of way, and then their mom fussed over Connor some more before sending him to his room. It had all felt kind of surreal.

Connor sighs and stares at the stupid whiteboard. The problem makes absolutely no sense to him. One questions quizzes are fucking evil.

He writes _I don’t know how to do this_ across the top of his paper and turns it in.

So that’s where he’s at right now. Like, in life.

The day drags on, with the only highlights being the times he gets to see Evan—in Econ and at lunch.

Evan has therapy today, so he gets a ride after school with his mom instead of Connor, and Connor tries not to be disappointed about it. Tries not to look over at the passenger seat and picture Evan sitting there laughing and singing. Tries not to _miss_ Evan, because _what the hell, that’s so weird and sappy and pathetic._ He feels like he’s had enough sappiness within the last couple of weeks to last a lifetime.

When he gets home, he’s tired as shit and falls into bed and naps for about three hours. After he wakes up, he takes a long, hot shower, scrubbing his skin until it’s pink and he feels a little more like a human being and less like a very angry exhausted creature crammed into the meatsuit of some gangly teenager.

Things are weird. He’s finished his college apps and submitted everything, and he hasn’t even seen his dad lately (aside from that night, after the party), so he hasn’t had to talk to him about any of it. His mom is being genuinely nice to him. Zoe is...something close to a sister again. It helps that she’s a part of his new friend group or whatever. Hanging out with and talking to her is easier when there are other people around—like Evan, who sees more than he lets on, or Alana, who cheerfully fills all the awkward silences, or even Jared fucking Kleinman, who Connor is starting to very reluctantly warm up to.

He steps out of the shower and wraps the towel around his waist, and then just stands in front of the mirror and stares. The person staring back at him has deep eye bags and a crooked, bruised nose.

Connor doesn’t really like himself. He’s too sad-looking and skinny, and god, does he always look so dead inside? Have his limbs always been so fucking awkward and scrawny? He pinches the skin around his belly button and frowns.

The doorknob turns.

Connor panics, reaching for the towel to cover up his torso, but then he realizes it’s too short and his bottom half would be exposed. Before he can consider if that would _really_ be worse than what’s about to happen, Zoe’s walking into the bathroom, and then he just quickly whirls around so that his back is to her.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, but then she _doesn’t fucking leave._  She brushes past him and opens one of the cabinets below the sink, rummaging around for what feels like eternity. Finally, she makes a triumphant noise and stands, holding up a bag of cotton balls.

She meets his eyes in the mirror, takes in his clenched jaw and flushed face, and then her gaze flickers down to his arms, which he’s trying desperately to hide by crossing them and hunching in on himself. It doesn’t work. He’s too fucking tall and gangly, and the harsh bathroom light shows off everything he doesn’t want her to see.

“What the hell?” She says, turning to face him properly, tugging his hands away from where they’re clenched around his biceps. She stares at the scars there in something like horror or anger or disbelief, or maybe even fear.

“Don’t,” he says sharply when she opens her mouth to say something else. He grabs his clothes from the countertop—thinks, fleetingly, that he could have covered up with his goddamn _shirt_ and all of this could have been avoided, god he’s such a fucking dumbass—and shoves the door all the way open as he storms out.

She follows him to his room, because of fucking course she does. “Connor.”

“Jesus fucking—” He scrubs one hand over his face, the other clutching his stupid T-shirt tightly. He has his back turned to her again. “I’m _naked,_ a little fucking privacy would be nice.”

There’s a way too long pause, and then the sound of footsteps retreating away. He goes to the open doorway, looks down the hall to make sure she’s really gone and that no one else is around, and then retreats into his closet to hastily put some clothes on. He misses having a fucking door.

He still feels too exposed after he’s dressed. Throws a sweatshirt on over his T-shirt. Finds a hairband somewhere in the mess on his desk, and ties his hair up. (It’ll probably dry weird, but it doesn’t really matter. He just wants it out of the way.) Then he sits on his bed, feeling hollow.

Fuck Zoe for barging in. Fuck her for acting like she cares.

After a few minutes, she comes back. She knocks on the doorframe, hesitant and not meeting his eye.

 _She’s scared of you,_ that self-destructive part of his brain says.

The even worse part of him, the part he doesn’t hate nearly as much as he should, says back, _Good._

He sighs heavily, shoving his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt. He likes how the big emptiness of it makes his hands feel smaller. Like they’re incapable of hurting or harming anybody or anything.

“What?” He says. His voice cracks, just barely. It’s enough for her to notice, enough for her to make the decision to step inside the room and sit down next to him.

“I’m sorry,” she says, but she doesn’t really sound all that sorry.

He shrugs, staring pointedly at the floor.

This time she’s the one who sighs. She bumps her shoulder against his awkwardly. They’re still not good at this—at being normal siblings. They can’t even share a friendly shoulder bump without one of them wanting to murder the other.

“I—” She says, then stops. Her voice is thick like she might start crying. He really hopes she doesn’t. He can’t handle that shit right now. He’d probably cry too. “I wish I had...known.”

He shrugs again, because what the fuck does he say to that? What _can_ he say?

“I feel like a bad sister.”

There’s a horrible twist in his chest. “Don’t,” he tells her. “Don’t do that shit, just because I—”

“I just—can’t believe I never _knew,”_ she says in a small voice.

“Not like you could’ve done anything about it,” he says uncomfortably. He cracks his knuckles inside of the big pocket that dwarfs his hands.

“I could have told Mom and D—”

“They knew,” Connor cuts her off.

He shouldn’t have said it. Zoe makes a sound he can't exactly figure out, hand covering her mouth.

Connor hunches in on himself even more. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to _do._ His chin wobbles embarrassingly, and he clenches his jaw to get it to stop.

“What do you mean they _knew?”_ She demands. Her eyes are shiny, but she’s not crying yet, thankfully.

Connor thinks back to seventh or eighth grade, his mom finding a pencil sharpener without the blade in it. He had taken it out with a screwdriver and then never threw the dumb plastic part away. She questioned him about it, and he had yelled at her and slammed his fists on a table or his desk or something, and so she just let it go.

He thinks about how he went through the Band-Aid boxes in the medicine cabinet in just a few weeks, and how when his father said one night that he was on his way to Walgreens if anyone needed anything, his mom replied, “Oh yeah, we’re out of Band-Aids again,” glancing over at Connor. He had stared right back, daring her to say something, _do_ something, but she just turned away with a sad look and added, “Pick up some batteries, too. Double A.”

He thinks about how once, back in freshman year, when he was still doing it on his wrists—because he was stupid and reckless, or maybe he really did just want attention, maybe he did want people to see, to ask him about it, to get him the help he fucking needed—instead of his upper arms or his shoulders, and he had been unloading the dishwasher with his dad and Zoe, and as he put a stack of plates in the cabinet, his sleeve slid down and his dad _saw._ He saw, and his face went chalk-white, but he didn’t say a word about it, and Connor remembers thinking, _coward._

“They just...did,” he tells Zoe tiredly.

“What the _fuck.”_

“It’s fine. I don’t do it anymore.” He fidgets, pulling at a loose thread inside the pocket. “You don’t have to, uh, worry about it, like.”

And that’s possibly the worst goddamn thing he’s had to say so far. The idea of Zoe worried about him makes him see red.

(It’s always been easier for him to be angry than sad.)

“It’s not fine!” She cries, getting to her feet abruptly. “To have done that to yourself, you must have been so— _alone,_ and—and no one did anything about it—”

“Zoe, _don’t,_ ” he says. Pleads.

And then her face softens, and she comes back over to sit down again, this time a little bit closer. They’re both quiet for a long time except for the occasional sniffle or throat clearing.

“Connor."

“Yeah.”

“I think, what I meant before, when I said…” Zoe pauses. “When I said I couldn’t forgive you? I think I just meant I wouldn’t forget. Okay?”

His stomach churns. He doesn’t want her to forgive him out of—pity, or guilt, or whatever the fuck this is.

He rests his head on her shoulder. He has to hunch in on himself even more just to do it, because he’s so much taller than her, and it’s weird and awkward and they’re still not good at this—at comforting, friendly, sibling contact, but. It feels like the right thing to do. He likes doing the right thing, lately.

He has years of shittiness to make up for.

  


-

  


Zoe tells their mom.

Connor doesn’t know what the fuck he expected. Maybe he thought she’d keep her mouth shut after their weird heart-to-heart or whatever the fuck that was, but he was wrong, and she tells their fucking mom, and it involves a lot of yelling and he thinks he throws a bowl at the wall at some point. Thankfully, it’s plastic and doesn’t break, so no one is really _that_ mad at him for it.

It gets even worse when Zoe says, “Connor needs to see a therapist.”

Their dad honest to god _laughs._

She whirls around to face him, eyes narrowed. “I’m serious, he needs help! And I want a therapist too.”

Connor tries not to let his surprise show on his face. Their parents aren’t so good at hiding it.

“What do you need a therapist for, Zoe?” Their mom asks, frowning.

Zoe makes a frustrated sound. “I hate everything, and I’m tired of this family, and I’m tired of being mad at Connor, and I’m—” She throws herself down into a chair, arms crossed. The expression on her face reminds Connor of her when she was a little kid, scared and upset. “I’m just _tired,_ okay? All the time. I think I'm like, depressed, or something.”

Connor probably shouldn’t be so shocked, but he can’t help it. Sure, his sister is fidgety and gets into weird moods now and then, and sometimes her anger issues can rival Connor’s, but he’s still always thought of her as...well-adjusted. Happy, even. She has a lot of friends, and she can cook, and she gets good grades, and she has dance parties by herself in her room, and she doesn’t care what people think of her.

He pats her awkwardly on the shoulder. Out of solidarity, in a way, because it turns out they’re in the same boat. (Or similar boats, drifting side by side. He’s in a canoe and she’s in...another type of canoe. Maybe a kayak, or something.)

“Okay,” their mother is saying, blinking rapidly. “Okay, we can talk about that, we can, um—”

“ _Therapy,”_ Zoe says firmly.

“All of the stuff you’re talking about is just—just stuff that comes with being a teenager,” their dad says, staring down into his glass of scotch.

“Are you serious?” Zoe scoffs, and Connor mutters, “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“It passes as you get older!”

“This. Isn’t. Normal. Okay? I know myself, and I know that something’s not right.” Zoe looks up at him, then points to Connor. “Can you really not see that _he_ at least needs professional help?”

Connor bristles, grits his teeth to keep from lashing out at her.

He needs to be careful. She’s on his side. She didn’t mean it in a bad way.

Their dad turns his back to them. “Connor’s been doing a lot better lately.”

Connor barks out a laugh. Zoe’s chest heaves, and then she yells, “He was _cutting himself!”_

“Larry,” their mom says, grabbing his arm. “They’re reaching out to us, we can’t just—”

“I said no,” he says loudly, slamming the now empty glass down onto the kitchen table. “That’s final.”

Their mom rubs her forehead, shoulders tensed, and then she turns to her kids with a forced smile. “Why don’t you two go upstairs? We can talk about this later. Your dad’s had a long day.”

Zoe storms out of the room before she even finishes her sentence, and Connor’s not far behind. She slams her bedroom door, and he’d do the same if he had one.

He can hear another argument starting downstairs as he gets into bed and puts his earphones in. It seems fitting—or maybe ironic, or just a little too on the nose—that the first song that plays is I Wanna Get Better by Bleachers.

He turns it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy pride month!!!
> 
> sorry for the long ass break between updates oof I've been super busy but I'm trying to finish this fic finished by the end of july so.....we'll see how things go
> 
> this chapter, specifically the conversation between connor and zoe, was loosely inspired by "part of me" (it's a cut song from deh and if you haven't listened to it, please do. but have some tissues ready. it fucks me up every time) 
> 
> please leave kudos and comment your thoughts, feelings, favorite parts, etc
> 
> thank u all so much for sticking around. see u soon! <3


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared is a good friend. Evan thinks Connor is brave.

“So when are you gonna confess your feelings to Connor?”

Evan’s head shoots up. “What? I already told you I’m not doing that.”

Jared rolls his eyes. “Dude, come on.”

“No, Jared,” Evan says firmly, trying not to remember the last time he climbed a tree and thought _I want to tell Connor how I feel about him._ The thoughts you have after a near-death experience (near-suicide attempt?) don’t need to be taken all that seriously. Or do they? “When are _you_ telling Matt Holtzer you wanna jump his bones?”

There’s a beat of silence. “Listen,” Jared says, but doesn’t follow up with anything else.

Evan feels a little smug that he won the argument. He goes back to his homework, and Jared does the same. After a while, he gets up and heads downstairs, telling Jared he’s going to get a snack.

“Can you get me something too?”

“What do you want?” Evan calls, walking into the kitchen.

“What do you have?” Jared yells back.

Evan stops in front of the pantry and sighs. It looks like his mom went grocery shopping again very recently, because there are many options. Instead of having to shout a reply, he grabs the closest things to junk food and goes back upstairs, arms full.

When he enters his room and drops everything on the bed, Jared is giving him a weird look.

“What?” He says, feeling uncomfortable. What did he do this time?

“Nothing, dude, chill,” Jared says, but his expression doesn’t change. He gets up from his spot on the floor and picks up the bag of veggie sticks, then says suddenly, “You know I had a crush on you freshman year?”

Evan freezes, the rice cake he’s holding falling from his hand onto the bed. He very much wants to just bolt out of the room. He almost _does,_ but he doesn’t think that would help the progress he and Jared have made with their friendship, so he picks up the rice cake and takes a bite, chews furiously, swallows, then utters, “Cool?”

He immediately wants to punch himself in the face. Jared looks like he wants to do the same, and he puts his head in his hands and groans. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Sorry,” Evan says hastily. “I mean, um. Really? That’s...”

“I should’ve just kept my mouth shut,” Jared mutters. He uncovers his face and sits back against the wall. Evan still has trouble reading him sometimes, but he seems...upset?

“No!” Evan says, sitting down in front of him. “I’m—glad you told me.” He pauses, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Um, why _did_ you tell me?”

“I don’t fucking know, Evan, I just—” Jared cuts himself off with a huff.

Evan suddenly thinks he understands. It’s like how he told Zoe about his middle school crush on her, without really giving it much thought. “You just had to, um, get it out of your system?”

Jared makes a face. Shoves some veggie sticks into his mouth.

There are a few seconds where neither of them says anything, both growing increasingly redder in the face.

“It’s _not_ because I’m still pining after you, or some shit like that.”

“Okay.”

“Seriously. I wanna fuck Matt, remember?”

“I said okay, Jared. It’s not a big deal.”

“Like, I want him to—”

“Okay, no, I do not—I very much don’t want to hear the end of that sentence.”

Jared grins a little, always one to enjoy messing with Evan. Then his smile falters. “I think I just want you to know that like. You’re not entirely gross?”

Evan blinks. “Gee, thanks.”

“You just look so, like, _distraught_ every time you talk about Connor, like you think you have no chance with him,” Jared continues. “You shouldn’t put yourself down so much.”

And _oh._ That’s.

Something.

Especially coming from Jared.

(Who still won’t stop finding new ways to surprise him.)

“Thanks?” Evan says, voice small.

“I mean, if I could have a crush on you back then, back when you were ten times geekier, and had even more of a baby face, and you had that _awful_ haircut—”

“Not—not doing wonders for my self-esteem here,” Evan says with a little laugh.

Jared rolls his eyes. “You’ve glown up since then.”

Evan grins and ducks his head, breaking off another piece of rice cake.

“See, this is where you say, ‘thanks Jared, you too, you’re also insanely handsome and cool now—’”

“I dunno,” Evan teases. “You were into Glee freshman year, and you still are, so have you really changed that much?”

Jared cackles and throws a handful of veggie sticks at him. “You’re such a dick."

 

-

 

Over the weekend, Evan goes to the Murphys’ again. He and Connor have plans for a movie marathon, and Zoe was going to join, but decided at the last minute to sleep over at Alana’s instead. Before she left, she said something about it being the anniversary of Alana’s grandpa’s death, and apologized a lot until Connor insisted, “Dude, it’s fine, just fucking go.”

Cynthia isn’t home, so Evan sort of assumes Larry isn’t, either. Which is why it’s a surprise when he walks into the living room as Connor goes through the DVD collection.

“Oh,” Larry says, blinking like he’s confused. “I...didn’t know you were having Evan over tonight.”

Connor automatically stands up a little straighter. Evan wonders if he even notices that he’s doing it.

“What’s the point of saying shit like that?” Connor asks, crossing his arms. “Like, who cares if you didn’t know, he’s obviously here now, so.”

Larry exhales sharply through his nose and starts towards the kitchen.

Something flashes in Connor’s eyes. And then he’s calling after his dad, “What’d you decide?”

Larry stops in his tracks. Evan feels very out of the loop. He shoots Connor a confused glance. The taller teen rolls his eyes and mouths, “Therapy.”

Right. Connor told Evan about how Cynthia has been fighting for him and Zoe to get to start therapy. Apparently Larry has been ignoring the whole family for almost a week, trying to avoid the subject.

“We’re not talking about this right now,” Larry says, and the “in front of Evan” is implied. Evan also gets the feeling that “we’re not talking about it right now” means they won’t talk about it later, either.

“ _Dad._ ”

“Connor, this isn’t the—”

“You did nothing,” Connor interrupts. “You _knew_ and you did _nothing_. And you wanna _keep_ doing nothing.”

Evan watches the scene unfold from out of nowhere, feeling sad and bewildered and like he shouldn’t be here.

“I said not _now,_ Connor.”

“Mom at least tried but—you fucking just...”

The dam seems to break, then. Or at the very least, it gives a little.

“I did the best I could,” says Larry, voice strained.

“I used to take pills from the medicine cabinet,” Connor says loudly. “You noticed and you didn’t say shit.”

“I—”

“Would you let me fucking _talk_?” Connor interrupts. He’s visibly shaking. “You never _listen_ to me, just let me talk for once!”

Larry collapses into the armchair and rubs his forehead. Connor waits until he looks up at him to continue.

“I used to steal pills from the medicine cabinet,” he repeats. “I got away with it until sophomore year when I passed out at the park and almost died, but you knew about it before then, I know you did.”

Evan remembers that rumor going around at school—about a kid found unconscious and alone in that park by the gas station, late at night. Everyone speculated about who it was, but no one could say for sure.

Evan’s eyes sting with tears at the knowledge that it was _Connor._

“In eighth grade I started cutting myself. You knew. You fucking _saw_ , remember that, Dad? Remember when we were unloading the dishwasher that night and my sleeve rolled down and you were right next to me, you looked over and saw and didn’t say a fucking _word._ ”

Larry is staring at the floor.

Connor‘s on a roll now. “I started doing worse drugs than pot,” he says, which Evan had no idea about, and he kind of wishes he didn’t know. His brain keeps going _you shouldn’t be here you shouldn’t be here it isn’t your place to be here you’re not a part of their family so you need to go you need to just go._ But his feet, of course, stay glued to the floor. “It didn’t last that long but you read my texts back then, so I know you read the ones between me and my dealer. You didn’t do anything about it.”

“I did my best,” Larry says, sounding like a broken record.

“Your ‘best’ was grounding me, or—or taking away my door, punishing me for things I was obviously doing because I needed—” Connor shakes his head. “This summer,” he goes on, and his voice cracks, and Evan’s heart hurts so fucking badly for him. “I threatened to kill myself, and you told me to my _fucking face_ that I just wanted _attention_! And all the times before that, you just ignored me or blew me off, or...”

His face crumples, and he goes to wipe his eyes and then just keeps his hands over his face. He’s crying steadily now.

Larry stands up, eyes shining, and takes two steps towards him, then seems to think better of it. “You’re—you’re right, I knew how bad it was. I just didn’t know how to—” He pauses to take a deep breath, wipes his eyes. “That’s no excuse, I know. I kept thinking I was doing my best, but I should have done...better.”

Evan wrings his hands from where he’s hunched over in the corner and wonders if the two of them will ever be able to rebuild the relationship they lost.

 _Probably not,_  he thinks, distantly reflecting on his relationship with his _own_ father, but then Connor is saying—

“I just want you to be my _dad._  Not this person who hates the—the sight of me—”

Larry looks offended. “I don’t hate you, you’re my _son_ ,” he says firmly, as if it’s that simple, as if that’s all there ever was to it. “I’m going to fix things. We’re going to get you help. Zoe, too. I’m, uh...sorry it took me this long to come around.”

Connor, gaze on his feet, sniffles again and mops at his eyes with his sleeve. It reminds Evan of that day the two of them sat on Evan’s doorstep together and talked about Zoe.

That feels like so long ago.

Larry clears his throat and, looking down at the floor now as well, says, “Evan, why don’t you two go to your house tonight?”

Evan springs into action immediately. “Sure, yeah,” he says, “definitely.”

He goes over to Connor, takes him by the arm. When they’re outside, Connor says hoarsely, “I don’t have my, uh, keys.”

Evan frowns. “You shouldn’t be driving right now anyways. We can just walk, it’s not far.”

Neither of them says another word until after they get inside Evan’s house. Evan locks the door behind them and then leads the way up to his room. He’s jittery, and trying to process everything, but he pushes all of that to the side as well as he can, because Connor needs him to _not_ be a panicked wreck right now.

“That, um, was a lot,” he says, then winces. _Stating the obvious._ “Do you want to talk about it?”

There’s a long pause, and then Connor croaks, “Not really.”

“Okay, that’s okay, that’s totally fine.” Evan nods quickly. Connor is standing in the middle of his room, staring at the floor, and his face is flushed and his eyes are still kind of watery and he looks so vulnerable. Evan wants more than anything to be able to comfort him somehow. Before he can change his mind, he clears his throat softly and says, “Um. Please don’t freak out, okay, but I’m gonna hug you.”

He shuffles closer in one quick, awkward movement, and goes to put his arms around Connor’s neck—but then remembers that he’s a little too short for that to be comfortable, so he wraps them around Connor’s middle instead. Connor is completely still for a few seconds, and then hugs back, taking a shuddering breath.

“What was that for,” he says into Evan’s hair.

“You looked like you needed it.” Connor smells nice. Like lavender essential oil, maybe. Evan tries not to breathe in too deeply and give himself away. “I’m—I’m proud of you. I just want you to know.”

“I feel like you’re always saying that,” Connor mumbles.

“Nope,” Evan tells him cheerfully. “See, you’re mistaken, I don’t say it _enough._ ”

Connor pulls away, cheeks red. “This is getting too cheesy for me.”

Evan tries giving him a small smile. “Do you want to sleep? I know that was really hard and you’re probably like exhausted.”

“You know me so well,” Connor says flatly. “Uh, I’m gonna go wash my face. I feel gross.”

While Connor is in the bathroom, Evan sets up the spare mattress in his room, and gets extra blankets and a pillow from downstairs. Then he sits on his bed and lets himself put his head in his hands—just for a minute. The night took a very strange turn, and it’s been rough, to say the least. He’ll probably sleep in tomorrow.

Connor comes back in looking a little bit better. His hair is tied back in a sloppy bun. He’s taken his hoodie off, and he holds it crumpled up in a ball. “Uh, Evan.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. I—” He stops. “Just...you know. Thanks.”

“Yeah, of course,” Evan says. He wants to thank _Connor._ For letting him into his life. “You can turn off the light whenever you’re ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing the murphy family from evan's point of view
> 
> sorry for the long ass break between updates! I was trying to get at least two chapters after this one written before I posted anything else. the next chapter is one of those big ones. (not really length-wise, just. stuff happens) it used to be a part of this chapter but then I decided to split it in half to draw things out longer lmao sorry but we might be looking at?? more than 35 chapters after all?? dkhfjgk I'm so in over my head
> 
> thank you so so so much for all the comments on previous chapters. I haven't gotten the chance to reply to them all yet but please know I read all of them and cherish them more than u guys will ever know. they're really my favorite! so!! do ur thing!
> 
> LAST THING: I wrote two other fics in the last few days so uhh check em out lmao
> 
> see u soon!! <3


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more truths come to light.

Evan wakes up the next day to an empty bedroom.

And, after he gets up and walks around, he finds that the whole house is empty.

Connor has left.

 _It’s fine,_ Evan tells himself. _He probably just needs some space after what happened. It’s okay. Don’t freak out. This isn’t about you. Not everything is about you. Don’t be clingy and weird._

He takes a shower. Tries doing his Pre-Cal homework, but he’s not in the right headspace for it, so he ends up distractedly watching TV until well into the afternoon. He makes a sandwich after he realizes he hasn’t had anything to eat all day, and is halfway done with it when his phone starts vibrating.

He washes his hands, and then takes a look at the caller ID. He can’t help the way his stomach sinks a little at the fact that it’s not Connor’s name on the screen, but his disappointment is short-lived and soon replaced with confusion and worry, because it’s the _other_ Murphy sibling that’s calling him, and she usually prefers to text.

“Are you with Connor?” Zoe demands as soon as he hits accept.

“Um.” Evan holds the phone between his ear and his shoulder, and covers the rest of the sandwich in cling wrap. “No? He slept over last night, but when I woke up this morning he was gone. Why, is he not—where are you?”

“Alana dropped me off at my house a while ago. His car is gone, and I’ve sent him like ten texts. No answer. My parents don’t know where he is either.”

Evan suddenly feels really stupid. “Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even—I should have checked in with him earlier.”

“Well, yeah,” Zoe sighs. Evan squeezes his eyes shut and takes deep breaths to calm himself.

“I think I might know where he is,” he tries. “Or where he could be. I can—I’ll go look for him there, and if he isn’t, then um. I’ll let you know.”

As he puts on a jacket, Zoe says, “You don’t have to do that, dude. He’s done this before. He runs away when he’s…” She sighs again, and this time she sounds even more annoyed. “I dunno. I thought he was done pulling this sort of thing.”

“He seemed okay yesterday,” Evan says in a small voice, because yeah, while Connor had been a little shaken up, he didn’t show any signs of wanting to up and _leave._ “He probably just needs some space, since he and your dad, um, talked last night.”

“They did?” She sounds hopeful. “Do you know what happened?”

Evan shoves his feet into his sneakers and heads outside, locking the door behind him. “Yeah, I was there.”

As he makes the long walk to the orchard, he fills her in on the details of last night, and he thinks she feels better about things by the end of their conversation. Her voice is much lighter when she tells him she has to go.

Evan ends the call and goes to put his phone in his pocket, only to realize that he’s still in his pajamas and doesn’t _have_ pockets. In his haste to leave the house he forgot to change, and now that he doesn’t have Zoe’s voice in his ear as a distraction from his surroundings, he feels embarrassed thinking about the amount of people who have probably just seen him walking around like this in thirty degree weather. He’s also suddenly very aware of how cold it is.

There’s ice melting on parts of the sidewalk from the last time it snowed, maybe a week ago. It’s hard, packed together, and muddy—not like the pale, fresh snow that’s falling gently right now. He has the urge to tilt his head up and open his mouth, to taste the powdery chill on his tongue like he hasn’t done since he was a kid.

He doesn’t do it. There’s not even anyone around, but he’s still too self-conscious.

Funnily enough, when Evan gets to the open field—he’s started thinking of it as _their_ field—in the orchard, he finds Connor doing exactly the thing he himself is too afraid to do. The taller teen stands near the treeline with his head tilted up toward the sky and his tongue sticking out. He’d look extremely young, if it weren’t for his tense posture and those ever-prominent bags under his eyes.

At the sound of Evan’s footsteps. Connor closes his mouth and turns. The orchard during this time of winter is kind of sad, especially when there isn’t even a blanket of snow to cover up the dead grass. There’s no magic. Just eerie silence and a melancholy, purplish-gray haze over everything.

“Zoe thought you ran away,” Evan blurts out as soon as he’s close enough for Connor to hear him.

Connor rolls his eyes. “Why the fuck would I do that _now_? When I have the chance to finally get therapy?”

He’s crossed the remaining distance between them so that they’re only a couple feet apart, and now Evan can see tiny flecks of snow caught in his hair.

“I don’t know,” Evan says with a shrug, trying to hide that he’s shivering, because he knows that if Connor notices, he’ll try to give him his jacket, and then Connor will die of hypothermia, and Evan will have to call Zoe and tell her that he found her brother alive but now he’s dead because chivalry isn’t. (Dead, that is.) “Um, have you been here all day?”

Connor looks away. His arms are stiff at his sides. “No. I drove around for a while. Went to the park, too.”

Evan nods and shuffles his feet, noting that he can’t feel his toes. He really hates winter. “Is there a reason you didn’t stick around this morning, or, um. I just, if I said something or if something’s on your mind, you can tell me, I swear won’t get weird and freak out or anything—”

“It’s not you, Evan. I just don’t _get it_ ,” Connor interrupts, then stuffs his hands into his pockets and exhales hard. His breath is visible in the cold air.

“Get what?” Evan asks, confused.

“The thing is,” says Connor, kicking at the ground. He gets some ice stuck on the top of his boots. Little crystals of it are caught in the laces, along with bits of grass and burrs. Evan’s own shoes look even dirtier than before, too. “I’m a shitty person. I’ve wanted help for so long, and now I might get it, but I keep thinking that I don’t deserve it.” He pauses. “Because I’m a bad person.”

“That’s not how it works,” Evan protests.

“I’m an awful son, and an awful brother,” Connor goes on, ignoring him. “And an awful friend, too, probably. Yeah. I’m just a bad person and you’re...you shouldn’t be here.”

Evan’s heart is racing, and that huge ball of anxiety and dread is back. It’s lodged itself in his esophagus. “What?”

Connor turns to face him fully. He makes an irritated sound and pushes his hair out of his eyes, then asks, almost desperately, “Why are you _here,_ Evan?”

Evan swallows hard. Does not flinch. Does not turn and run away. “Because we’re friends.” His voice wavers. “Because you’re my best friend,” he continues despite the thing lodged in his chest and throat trying to choke him, and despite the awfulness in his head screaming at him to just shut up. “I care about you.”

“You _shouldn’t._ How many times do I have to tell you, how many times do you have to _witness_ me being an asshole before—” Evan thinks his heart might be breaking all over again. “We shouldn’t even fucking be friends, I just don’t fucking get it, any of it.” Connor looks so frustrated, and he’s hunching over like he’s trying not to take up too much space, and Evan wants to hug him like he did last night, or reach for his hand, but he holds back, because this is not the same as last night. Right now it looks like Connor definitely wouldn’t appreciate having someone in his personal space. He keeps backing away and then stopping in his tracks, then shaking himself and backing away some more.

Evan balls his hands into the bottom of his jacket and takes another deep breath. “Tough,” he says. “Because we _are_ friends, and—and sometimes I don’t get it either, okay, but we are, and I’m not going anywhere. Are you?”

Connor stares at him for a long moment, chest heaving. “No,” he says quietly, finally, fingers twitching at his sides.

“Well there,” Evan says, voice cracking. “So shut up about it.”

Connor grins weakly and then snorts. Something about it is still off, so Evan decides to say the rest of what he has to say before he can stop himself.

He takes a step forward. “You’re always saying you’re a bad person, but you’re _not._ Have you done things that are bad? Yeah. But doing bad things doesn’t make you a bad _person._ That isn’t how it works. And you think I’m—you think I’m too _good_ to be friends with you?” He laughs suddenly, blinking back tears. “That’s really, really funny.”

“Evan,” Connor says, looking kind of freaked out now, and oops, maybe Evan isn’t doing the best job right now but he has to keep going, he needs Connor to _know_ —

“No, like, it’s—I lie,” he says. “ _All_ the fucking time. I lied about how I broke my arm, I lied about my dad...I-I told you he’s away a lot on, um, business trips? But he lives in Colorado! I haven’t even seen him in _years._ I told my mom—I told—I _made up_ friends to talk to her about. Like I came up with fake backstories for them and everything. She thinks I have four friends other than you guys. Travis, Adam, Josh, and Sophia.” He laughs again bitterly. The tears finally fall, and his nose is runny, so he wipes his face with his sleeve. _Embarrassing. Gross. Pathetic._ “And that was only last year! I’m a seventeen year old with imaginary friends.” He takes a shuddering breath. “So. If doing bad things makes you a bad person, and it means we shouldn’t be friends, then like, fuck. Because I’m a terrible person. The worst. The scum of the earth.”

(He believes every last word he says.)

“Shut up,” Connor says harshly, and when Evan looks at him properly, his face is all scrunched up as if he’s just smelled something unpleasant. “Jesus fucking Christ, Evan.” He crouches down, resting his arms on his knees. Evan does not know what to do with this reaction, so he just...waits, stomach churning. He’s probably fucked things up more than he ever could have imagined. No, he has _definitely_ just fucked everything up. There’s no question about it this time.

“Connor?” He says hesitantly, voice cracking yet again. _Just leave,_ his brain tells him. _He does not want you here, he didn’t want you here in the first place, he practically said it himself, and then you went and told him what an utter mess you are, what a sorry fucking excuse for a human being you are_ —

Connor is looking up at him, hands in his hair. “We’re both so fucked up,” he says, laughing.

Evan smiles back uneasily.

The ball of anxiety in his chest grows, then shrinks, just a little.

Connor stands and brushes himself off. “Uh.” He tilts his head like he’s trying to make a decision. “You wanna go home?”

“Yes please,” Evan stammers, nodding hard, and then Connor is next to him and threading one long, skinny arm through his, and Evan thinks _okay, so this is something we do now,_ and then they walk back to Evan’s house in silence.

When they get there, Connor lingers on the porch.

“So your imaginary friends,” he says in that way of his—not really a question, not really a statement.

Evan flinches.

“Yeah, no, uh.” Connor swallows. “Never mind.”

“I mean I—I told you about it so it’s not like—I mean, you can ask—”

“Dude, it’s fine. We can forget about it,” Connor says. He chews on his bottom lip. “Just. How do I know that if I leave you here alone today, you’re not gonna hate yourself and do something stupid?”

“You don’t,” Evan says. A sad sort of laugh bubbles out of him, and then he regrets his entire existence. “I always hate myself, and right now it’s—you know. Um.” He pauses. Takes a deep breath. “Did Jared tell you?”

"What?” says Connor.

“About the—because you said you thought I might do something...” Evan trails off as he realizes that he’s just put his foot in his fucking mouth, yet again.

 _You shouldn’t have said anything, he didn’t know anything at all before but then you had to ask and now he definitely knows_ something, _so you need to either slam your head through the front door and give yourself a concussion, or just spit out the rest of the truth._

“Fuck it, I’ve already told you enough today...um. I need to tell you something else.”

A crease appears on Connor’s forehead, between his brows. “You didn’t lie about anything else, right? Because I’m trying really hard to not be pissed about all that shit.”

Evan squeezes his eyes shut. “You know how I broke my arm, back in August? It was because I jumped out of the tree, not—I didn’t fall. I did it on purpose. And then I tried to do it again. After I got the cast off.”

“Tried to—”

“Kill myself, yeah,” Evan says, then covers his face with his hands. He doesn’t understand why he feels so terrible telling Connor this, especially now that he knows for sure that Connor _gets_ it, because he’s felt the same way before.

There’s a rustling sound, and when Evan peeks through his fingers, Connor is fidgeting with his jacket, face open and soft. “I’m still kinda mad at you,” he says, voice surprisingly gentle.

“Right.” Evan nods fast. “That’s totally understandable.”

Connor looks at him out of the corner of his eye. His fingers tap a beat against his thigh, and his mouth twists slightly. “I don’t want to be.”

Evan doesn’t know what to do with that, so he just chews on the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything else.

“Okay,” Connor says finally. He leans forward on his toes, then goes backwards and bounces a little on his heels. He looks like he’s trying to figure out a really difficult puzzle, or make a huge life decision here on Evan’s front porch. (Or maybe Evan just reads too much into his friends’ facial expressions.) “I’m gonna bring it up again even though I said I wouldn’t, and I’m gonna be sappy for like, two seconds, and I need you to just not react at all. And definitely don’t cry.”

Evan’s vision is already blurring again, but he nods.

Connor inhales audibly. Exhales. “You’re the one who said that we’re...I mean, you’re my best friend,” he goes on, then pulls a face that makes Evan laugh despite himself. “All that shit you told me—it’s fucked up, but it doesn’t change that.”

“Okay,” says Evan. He wipes at his eyes quickly.

“Okay,” Connor echoes. “I’m gonna go home. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yes, yeah,” Evan says, even though he still isn’t entirely sure he will, because Connor knows the _real_ him now, and he’ll still know tomorrow.

Evan clears his throat. The anxiety lump is still there, except now it’s more of a sadness lump. A suicidal thoughts lump.

The taller teen hesitates again. “Maybe you should come with me. You could spend the night. Or I could—”

“No, really, I’m fine, it’s all good,” Evan insists, forcing a smile. He gives a thumbs up, then does finger guns and tries not to outwardly cringe at himself.

Connor does finger guns back, face serious as ever. And then he smiles a little and reaches out for a fist bump. Evan’s heart flutters.

He watches Connor walk down the street, and doesn’t go inside until long after Connor has turned the corner.

Around nine, when he’s laying in bed, he gets a text.

 **Connor:**  im glad you're here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so so sorry for the long wait!! I've been going #through #it
> 
> fun fact: this fic used to have little excerpts of evan's letters to himself that I put in every other chapter, but I eventually scrapped that idea because it got kind of annoying lol. I also was only planning on writing evan's point of view (like, for the whole thing) but then someone said it would be cool to see connor's perspective and I was like oh shit u right...and then connor chapters were born. 
> 
> please leave kudos, comment, and follow me on tumblr @jaredklein <3
> 
> I love u all thanks so much for reading


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are looking up for Connor.

Before Connor knows it, the end of the semester is approaching fast. Which means finals season, which means that lately Evan spends most of his time studying.

Connor isn’t really that fazed—he put his grades into one of those final grade calculator things, and he did well enough this semester that he isn’t going to fail any of his classes even if he fails his exams.

But Evan, as previously mentioned, has been spending the majority of his time studying, so he’s sleep deprived and tired and clearly stressed the fuck out, and Connor hates it, and he’s always been impulsive so one day when he’s at Evan’s and Evan is studying _yet again_ , he blurts out, “Hey. Let’s take a trip.”

Evan looks up, twirling a highlighter between his fingers, and says distractedly, “What are you talking about?”

(It’s really cute how high his voice gets sometimes.)

The gears start turning in Connor’s head, and then he has a fully formed idea— “Do you have any plans during the break?”

“No?” Evan answers, brow furrowed. “I mean, we usually go to Jared’s around Hanukkah but that’s later on...why?”

“Let’s go on a road trip or something,” Connor says, and he’s kind of excited now. Fuck. He hopes his eagerness doesn’t show too much on his face.

“I—what?” Evan laughs. “Connor...”

“Come on. It’ll be a cool way to like, de-stress. It could be our senior trip!”

“Are—are you being serious?”

“ _Yeah,_ dude.”

Evan tilts his head, looking thoughtful. “That does sound cool,” he admits. He’s smiling with his face all scrunched up and it’s making Connor’s heart do backflips. “But I don’t know if my mom would be okay with it?”

“That’s fine,” Connor says quickly. “Just—think about it, and worry about that later.”

Evan grins. “Okay.”

“Cool. Uh, are you hungry?” Connor asks as he glances away, desperate to change the subject. He considers suggesting that they go somewhere to eat, but Evan probably wants to stay in and keep studying. So instead he says, “I could kinda go for some pizza.”

“I actually am a little hungry, I guess. I can order, um, if you get the door when it comes?” Evan’s gaze flickers down to his textbook again.

“Sure,” Connor agrees, handing him his phone.

  


-

  


“Wanna go to the orchard after school?” Evan asks the next day at lunch.

Connor raises his eyebrows. “Aren’t you busy with all that studying?”

Evan shrugs, knee bouncing up and down. He’s practically radiating nervous energy. “I think I need a break, honestly. There’s a limit to how much I can cram before my brain stops working, you know?”

“Can’t relate,” Alana mutters under her breath. She’s sitting between Connor and Zoe with her notebooks, a textbook, sticky notes, and highlighters spread out all over the table.

Evan rolls his eyes at her, then looks back at Connor expectantly. “So...?”

Connor sulks. “I can’t,” he says, suddenly annoyed again. “I have detention.”

“For what?” Jared asks, elbowing Evan.

Connor narrows his eyes. He wonders what that’s about. “Too many tardies.”

“Maybe if you didn’t walk Evan to all his classes, you’d be on time,” Zoe teases.

Connor fights the urge to flip her off, and instead, sticks his tongue out at her.

“Mature,” she says as she pops a chip into her mouth and chews loudly.

“Gross,” he shoots back.

When everyone sort of goes back to doing their own thing, eating in relative silence, a foot nudges Connor’s. He looks up, and Evan, sitting across from him, smiles. “I talked to my mom when you left.”

Connor perks up. “Yeah?” he says, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“She’s...weirdly cool with it? She said she trusts us, so it’s a yes, basically.”

And then Connor can’t control the way he grins, wide and helpless.

  


-

  


When Connor gets home after detention, his mom calls him into the kitchen. He sighs, takes his shoes off, and goes, wondering if she’s about to somehow ruin the okay day he’s having.

She’s at the island, pouring what looks like chocolate chips into a large bowl. “Hey sunshine,” she greets cheerfully, and okay, _that’s_ a nickname he hasn’t heard since he was like nine, so he’s immediately even more suspicious.

“What’s up,” he says slowly.

“I just wanted to let you know I scheduled your first therapy appointment. It’s on the calendar.” She gestures towards the calendar on the wall, hung up next to a finger painting that he or Zoe made for Mother’s Day many years ago. “It’s next week—Wednesday, I think. Does that sound good?”

Connor blinks, dumbfounded. His chest feels weird and tight all of a sudden. “Uh, yeah.”

“Zoe’s is Monday. I think you’ll both really like the therapists I found.”

Connor doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he just nods and adjusts his bag, hoisting it up further onto his shoulder.

His mom looks up and smiles. “We could even try family sessions, once you’re comfortable enough with it? Not to get ahead of ourselves, but I think it might be...really good. For all of us.”

The thought of sitting through therapy with his family kind of makes Connor want to punch a wall. He imagines sitting on a couch with his mom between him and Zoe, and his dad standing in the corner with his arms crossed or something because he’s too “above” getting help, and Zoe in the middle of telling the story about the time Connor threw a chair across the room, and...yeah, Connor would rather break all the bones in his hand than go through that shit.

His mom looks hopeful, though, so he just shrugs. “Sure, whatever,” he says, turning to leave. Then he pauses for a second and adds, cheeks warming a little, “Uh, thanks.”

“I love you, Connor,” she calls after him with a happy laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so short, it's kind of a filler chapter. ALSO sorry for the super long wait!! I'm moving away for college next month and there's a lot to get done before then. it might be a reach but I still want to finish this fic by the end of july, so I'm going to try really hard to update more frequently again!
> 
> thanks for reading and being so patient with me! please comment, leave kudos, check out my other fics, and follow me on tumblr @jaredklein :^)


	32. Chapter 32

Evan goes over to the Murphys’ after school on Tuesday to study for the APES exam with Zoe. They spend most of their time in the game room going over each other’s notes, occasionally breaking the silence to ask questions. Connor sits on the couch reading a book, leg bouncing up and down restlessly. Every few minutes, he shifts, or changes position, or cracks his knuckles—like he’s filled with anxious energy and can’t contain it. Actually, now that Evan thinks about it, Zoe’s giving off a similar vibe, too.

He wonders what’s up with that.

Sometime in the early evening, Zoe goes downstairs to help with dinner, and that’s when Connor shuts his book and says almost urgently, “Evan.”

Evan pauses in the middle of putting his things away. “Yes?”

“This is going to sound really fucking stupid,” Connor says. His leg is still bouncing up and down, so fast that Evan’s getting a little concerned.

“What?” he asks.

“Just—uh. I have therapy tomorrow?”

“That’s great!” Evan blurts out automatically, grinning because it _is_ great. “I’m so happy for you.”

Connor puffs his cheeks and blows a strand of hair away from his face. “Yeah, I know it’s great, it’s so _fucking_ amazing, which is why this is dumb. I shouldn’t be freaking out. I _shouldn’t_ be.”

“Oh,” Evan says, suddenly understanding. He chews on the inside of his cheek, then asks gently, “You’re worried about it? Because that’s not dumb at all. I remember when I first started therapy I was really scared, too.”

“I’m not _scared,_ ” Connor snaps defensively.

“Yeah, no, of course,” Evan tries to amend. “But it’s okay if you are, you know? Do you...wanna talk about it? Like, tell me why you’re, um, freaking out?”

“You already _know_ why I—like. I’ve been waiting for this for so long, but what if it doesn’t work? What if I don’t get better? What if I’m just kidding myself and I—I’ll never be—” He cuts himself off, looking down at his lap, and is Evan imagining it or is he breathing kind of hard? His voice is uncharacteristically small when he goes on. “I don’t wanna die, Evan.”

Evan’s chest tightens as he gets up and goes to sit next to Connor. “What...what do you mean?” he asks, forcing himself to keep in the awkward laugh that’s threatening to bubble out of him like it usually does in tense situations.

“If I don’t get better, there’s nothing stopping me from—”

“Oh.” Evan’s heart has dropped to his stomach. He can’t come up with anything comforting to say to that. He almost wants say, _you have me,_ but that feels too selfish. He doesn’t know.

“Can you sing something?” Connor asks, voice strained.

Evan blinks, caught off guard. And then he _does_ laugh nervously. “You don’t want me to sing, I—trust me.”

“I like your voice.” Connor lifts his head and stares right into Evan’s eyes. He looks so panicked and tired and Evan already knows there’s no way he can say no to him again. “Please,” he says. (Half-question, half-not.)

Evan swallows hard. “Okay, but don’t look at me.”

Connor nods and fixes his gaze on his lap again. His hair falls over his face in curtains. And then, without looking up, he reaches out his hand.

Evan barely hesitates before putting his own hand on top and intertwining their fingers, but it takes him a few more seconds to gather the courage to open his mouth. This is way too much pressure. It’s too quiet in here and he’s going to sound terrible and his voice will crack and then Evan will just have to rip out his vocal chords with his bare hands.

Except Connor won’t stop shaking. He’s almost vibrating with nerves.

 _“Gimme some more,"_  Evan starts, then coughs, wanting to fucking cry at how awkward he is, but he pushes through, _“time in a dream, gimme the hope to run outta steam...”_

He keeps singing, though he’s pretty sure he’s getting some of the lines mixed up. Connor’s shoulders relax ever so slightly.

 _“But I love you more than words can say...I can’t count the reasons I should stay..."_  Evan trails off when he feels Connor’s eyes on him again. “Sorry,” he stammers. He’s not really sure why he’s apologizing.

“I like that,” Connor says. “Who’s it by?”

“Oh, um.” Evan squeezes his hand without thinking about it. “I don’t know.” At Connor’s expression, his cheeks heat up and he explains, “I mean, it’s from this show I like—Community? It’s the theme song, and I’ve had it stuck in my head all day, so. Yeah.”

Connor stares at him for another moment before pulling his hand away to take out his phone. “I’m gonna look it up,” he murmurs, and then suddenly it’s almost like nothing ever happened—Zoe’s calling them down to eat, and Connor gets up abruptly and goes down the stairs with Evan following, confused.

 

-

 

“Okay, so, change of plans,” Connor says on Wednesday in Econ. He chews on his fingernail, not quite meeting Evan’s eyes. “Uh, my parents freaked out at the idea of letting me drive somewhere so far away by myself, so now Zoe’s coming too. Which is lame, but. It’s fine. We’re cool now. Mostly.”

He looks like he’s trying to convince himself, more than anything. Evan thinks it’s endearing. And then he thinks _oh,_ because wait, does that mean Connor had been seriously planning on it being just the two of them? His chest flutters at the idea—him and Connor alone in the van, miles and miles of road stretched out ahead of them, The Mountain Goats playing in the background. Maybe Evan could reach out, grab Connor’s hand where it rests on the steering wheel, and Connor could lace their fingers together without a second thought, the way he’s done countless times before. Evan thinks about asking Connor to pull over so they could kiss properly, and then maybe somehow they’d end up in the backseat, with Connor a sold, steady weight on top of him...or, no, _him_ on top of Connor, getting to be the one in control...

Evan jerks, snapping out of it.

_Zoe’s going to be there. And it’s not like any of that shit would happen anyways._

 

-

 

Here’s how things go: Zoe invites Alana, because of course she does. (They’re pretty much inseparable.) And when Alana brings up the trip at lunch, forgetting that Jared is there, everyone sort of shares panicked looks with each other like _we can’t just leave him out!!!_ until Zoe invites him, too.

It escalates even more from there. Alana somehow makes herself in charge of everything to do with the trip. She writes it all down in a little notebook—gas money, and places to eat, and all the things she insists they _have_ to see on the way.

And Jared, despite always pretending not to care about stuff, helps plan most of it with her. He’s already going on and on about road trip music.

“My AUX doesn’t work,” Connor tells him weakly. Evan suppresses a laugh at the look on his face.

Jared shrugs, still grinning. “I can make a CD.”

“Ooh,” Zoe says. “Good idea.”

Less than a minute later, Jared has created a note on his phone and sent the invitation link to it in their group chat. Evan opens it. It’s titled “ROAD TRIP PLAYLIST [car emoji] [shrimp emoji] [rainbow emoji] [snowman emoji] [christmas tree emoji]” and there are already a few songs listed.

“Everyone can add stuff and I’ll put it on the CD,” Jared announces cheerfully.

Connor makes a show of huffing and rolling his eyes, but he’s typing something on his phone, and Evan glances over to see that he’s putting At Least It Was Here by The 88 on the list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember when I promised u guys that evan would sing to connor at some point in this fic, probably around chapter 28? well here it finally is. corny as can be. fuck yeah
> 
> headcanons on the gang's favorite tv shows:  
> evan: community, parks and rec, and please like me  
> zoe: the office, community, friends, and greys anatomy (she used to genuinely like it but now she just watches because she Can't Stop no matter how much she wants to)  
> connor: the office, parks and rec, and bojack horseman  
> jared: it's always sunny, bobs burgers, veep, and stranger things  
> alana: she's more of a movie type of gal but she likes the good place, and she has a love/hate relationship with glee
> 
> I know chapters have been getting a lot shorter but I'm gonna try to update again tomorrow to make up for it!
> 
> thanks for reading as always leave comments and kudos etc <3 tumblr is @jaredklein


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Road trip part one.

The semester ends. Evan does pretty good on all his exams. On the morning they’re going to leave for the road trip, he wakes up early and has breakfast with his mom, and it’s nice.

“Take lots of pictures for me!” she’s saying.

“I will,” he promises, stirring his cereal around distractedly. There’s a lot on his mind. He’s excited and nervous, but excited, mostly. “Are you working all week?”

“Yeah,” his mom sighs, “but I managed to get two whole days off after you get back. We should do something fun this year!”

“You mean other than attending the Kleinmans’ annual Hanukkah dinner?” Evan says.

His mom laughs and stands up to put her bowl in the sink. “Yeah, that’s always _such_ a blast.”

Evan likes joking around with her. “Can’t wait to get to sit around and watch Jared play video games with his cousins all night!” he says, pumping his fist in the air weakly.

“Jared’s...a funny kid,” his mom says carefully. “You two—you’ve been getting along lately? He doesn’t pick on you so much anymore, does he?”

“Um.” Evan swallows. “Yeah, he’s—” _Jared is standing at the base of the tree yelling for Evan to get down and Jared is apologizing after calling Evan_ tree boy _and Jared is sitting on his bedroom floor telling Evan that he’s not, like, completely gross after all._ “He’s a good friend, really.”

“Good!” she says, smiling wide. “I’m glad.”

Evan’s phone buzzes with a text from Connor. “They’re here,” he says, shoveling his last few bites of cereal into his mouth as he stands.

Evan gets his stuff and goes outside, and his mom follows him to Connor’s car. Zoe rolls her window down. “Hi Mrs. Hansen, I’m Zoe.”

Evan goes stiff at the use of _Mrs.,_ but his mom just laughs it off and tells her, “Heidi’s fine, honey. It’s nice to meet you! You and Connor look a lot alike.”

“ _Mom,_ ” Evan says pointedly as he climbs into the passenger seat. He doesn’t think Zoe would like to hear about how much her features are similar to Connor’s.

“Okay, okay. Are you forgetting anything? Crap, what about sunscreen? You need sunscreen! I’m gonna go run upstairs and see if we have any.”

“Mom, it’s winter. I think I’ll be okay.”

She pauses, and then seems to relax a little, shoulders dropping. “Sorry,” she laughs. “I’ll quit embarrassing you now.” She glances between the three of them and says, “Stay safe. Make good choices.”

Connor nods solemnly. Evan appreciates it.

She opens Evan’s door to hug him goodbye, and then she stands in the driveway and waves until they drive out of the neighborhood.

“Your mom is so cute,” Zoe says.

Evan shrugs. “She is...a mom,” he says awkwardly.

“So,” she continues, leaning forward to grab him and Connor by the arm. Connor makes a face and shrugs her off. “I had something I wanted to tell you guys?”

“Go for it,” says Connor.

“I’m gonna ask Alana to be my girlfriend.” Since she’s sitting in the back, they both turn in their seats to look at her, and then she’s yelling, “Connor!” and he whips back around. The car does not swerve, thankfully. Evan breathes out through his nose and slowly releases his death grip on his seat belt.

“Sorry,” Connor mutters. “But fuck, will you stop saying out of nowhere shit like that when I’m driving? We’re gonna get Evan killed one day.”

“Is it _really_ out of nowhere?” Evan murmurs, because it’s pretty obvious that Alana and Zoe have a thing for each other, at the same time that Zoe says, “Uh, you mean _you’re_ gonna get Evan killed. I’m not the one driving like a fucking maniac.”

“You’re the one who—”

“So you’re going to ask Alana out!” Evan interrupts, before this can become a full-blown argument. “That’s cool!”

“It’s great,” Connor says. He forces a smile that looks more like a grimace. Or like he just rubbed hot sauce all over his gums.

Zoe sighs and sits back. “Not the reaction I was hoping for. Or even a reaction at all, to be honest.”

“If you wanted a _reaction,_ you should have gone to Kleinman,” Connor says pointedly.

“Good thing we’re here, then,” Zoe says. Right on cue, they pull up in front of Jared’s house. Jared comes out a second later, lugging his bags over to the car.

“Ugh, you guys help him,” Connor groans, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. “It’s way too fucking early to be seeing that face.”

“ _Connor,_ ” Evan says.

“On a _Saturday,_ Evan,” Connor says. “A _Saturday._ ”

“Be nice,” Zoe chides as she gets out to open the trunk for Jared. When they’re all settled and Jared is in the backseat with her, she says, “Guess what.” Then before he can say _what,_ “I’m gonna ask out Alana.”

“Are you kidding?” Jared practically shouts. “Fucking _yes,_ I’ve been waiting for this for years, what the fuck—”

“You’ve known us for like, three months,” she says with a laugh. “But you’ve got the spirit and that’s what counts.”

They head to Alana’s house. While they’re waiting for her to come out, Jared says, “Wait. You’re not gonna ask her out _now,_ right?”

“Uh, I think the fuck not,” says Connor.

“Because that’s probably not the _best_ idea? Even though everyone knows she likes you back,” Evan adds. “We just mean that you—you know--”

“Don’t fucking worry, I was gonna wait till after we get back,” Zoe huffs. “You guys are the worst.”

“Boo,” Jared says, and then the back door opens and Alana climbs in.

“Good morning!” she greets—except it’s more like _Good morning!!!!!!_ Evan pictures the six exclamation marks in his head. Alana is grinning from ear to ear, and she’s holding a huge thermos in her hands. “I’m so excited. Road trip!”

“Road trip!” Zoe says, and reaches across Jared to high five her.

“Eight hours in a car with Kleinman and those two—” Connor gags. “Lovebirds. God.”

Evan gives him a sympathetic smile. “At least you have me.”

“True,” Connor agrees, turning out of the neighborhood. “But I need coffee. We’re stopping at Starbucks.”

“Um, we can’t stop until eleven,” Alana says. “I have everything planned out right here.” When Evan glances back, he sees that she has her little notebook out and she’s pointing to the open page.

“No offense, Alana, but I’m the one driving, and I say we’re stopping, so.” Connor flashes her a grin in the rearview mirror. “We’re stopping.”

“Okay, fine, but after _that,_ no more stops till eleven,” she says. “We’re on a very strict schedule!”

Zoe kicks the back of Connor’s seat. “Get me a mocha frappe.”

“Get it yourself,” Connor mutters, but he pulls into the drive-thru and orders it.

  


-

  


Two hours in, they’ve all had coffee, and Jared is complaining about his Spanish 3 final. “I mean, I passed with a 70, but I don’t know how the fuck I’m gonna do it next semester. I wish I had just dropped back in August.”

“I could tutor you if you want!” Alana offers immediately.

Evan has deja vu, remembering the time she helped him with Pre-Calc.

“Let me guess,” Jared sighs. “You’re like, trilingual.”

“Actually…”

Connor snorts. “Wait, seriously?”

Alana smiles bashfully—or well, with as much bashfulness as someone like Alana Beck can muster—and explains that one of her dads if Filipino, so she knows Tagalog, and her other dad is an ASL interpreter and she regularly goes with him to Deaf socials and events so she’s a pretty skilled signer, too, and she’s taken three years of Spanish and is in her fourth year of French.

Connor looks amazed. “So technically you’re—quadrilingual? Fuck, that’s. Wow.”

“Pentalingual,” Zoe pipes up, grinning. “If you count English.”

“Hey,” Jared says suddenly. “Road trip!”

Everyone cheers and high fives him, even Connor.

  


-

  


The CD keeps skipping every few songs before going back to track one, which means that so far they’ve listened to Viva La Vida by Coldplay at least ten times. During the next time it plays, Zoe suggests that they play a game.

“Like what?” Evan asks.

“Oh, how about the one where you describe a movie and the person who guesses it right gets to go next,” Jared says. Then before anyone can say anything else, he says, “I’ll go first.”

“Saw that coming,” Connor mutters.

“Okay, so Robin Williams—”

“Jumanji,” Alana says quickly. “Mrs. Doubtfire. Dead Poet’s Society. Flubber!”

“Oh my god, Alana, you have to let me _describe_ it first.”

“You’ve seen Flubber?” Zoe asks.

“Let’s not act like we’re above Flubber,” Jared says.

“Jared still has the VHS tape,” Evan adds with a grin.

“God,” says Connor. “Is it Flubber?”

“Nope! So there’s a poor guy, and a blue guy, and a carpet, and they—”

“What the fuck,” Zoe murmurs, frowning.

“Oh!” Evan says, realizing. “It’s Aladdin.”

“Ding ding ding!” Jared says cheerfully. “Evan’s turn.”

Evan thinks for a moment, then says, “Okay. Winona Ryder is in it, and there’s this—”

“Heathers!” Alana exclaims.

Evan puts his head in his hands.

“Was that...it?” Connor asks, sounding like he’s trying not to laugh.

Evan nods. “Yeah.

“New rule,” Zoe says. “From now on, nobody mentions the names of the actors, because Alana is just. Too good at this game.”

(About ten minutes after that, they end up playing I Spy instead.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so. I have something to say and it kind of sucks but here we go.
> 
> I've been thinking about it for a while and I've decided to put this fic on hiatus. I realized that it's very unrealistic to try to finish this by the end of july, and besides that, I don't want to continue to write something when my heart isn't fully in it, because then I'll start posting increasingly mediocre chapters and stop liking this fic altogether which! I don't want. 
> 
> if you let me down, let me down slow is very near and dear to my heart. it helped me figure out how to write these characters and made me realize how much I love writing!! but at this point, planning for it is starting to become more of a chore and I have other fics I want to focus more on, so. yeah. I don't know when I'll continue/finish this, or if I ever even will, but know that I appreciate all of you who have stuck with it this long and put up with the cheesiest of chapters! I know this is a weird place to leave things and I'm sorry about that dsfkgh
> 
> thanks so much for reading <3 you can stay in touch with me on tumblr @jaredklein 
> 
> good things are coming.


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